IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


li^llIlM    12.5 


1.4 


12.0 


1.8 


1.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


f,^ 


iV 


:\ 


\ 


^.%> 


6^ 


^^ 


r^^ 


w- 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


<> 


I 


I 


iv^^mfiX^'^^-.  i^j^:-yfe-^.:rr'4;^^^^-^*^AW-'1l'h''ay^>':^^-^A'  *^^S*s*^^7W^S<*!^'S*^^tiKK«!«:?^*^ 


^.\u^^v^^^'Bt^^ffy^*»'!^^, :." 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


J      f 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographicalty  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


rVT'  Coloured  covers/ 
JzZu    Couverture  de  couleur 

I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


D 


n 


D 


D 


Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur^s  et/ou  pelliculde 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I~~|    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  a^itre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr^i  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  film^es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires: 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pellicul^es 


D 


D 
D 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d^color^es,  tachet^es  ou  piqu6es 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tachdes 

I      I    Showthrough/ 


Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  indgale  de  ('impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppl^mentaire 


I      I    Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I    Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  dispcnible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6X6  film^es  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

X 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

e 

Stalls 
IS  du 
nodlfier 
ir  une 
ilmage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grSce  d  la 
gSnSrositS  de: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetS  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


)S 


Les  exemptaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimSe  sont  filmSs  en  commenqant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derni^re  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END  "), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduotion  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmSs  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supSiieur  gauche,  de  gauche  S  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mSthode. 


errata 
to 


I  pelure, 
an  d 


D 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

^M      I     111!     r  iMBii  Mill    !■ mn <  mipniiiwiiii  ^imiii aiir    n   iWin^jii w ■<■ 


^^??f<»°i&nfnMan  .a'J&au'j^s'vai'v-w^fftttt  ti-naif J^^:!  it  >s.-*;.^i^jimgw\  .byA^^aatfA  /■  fta  ripawti '  tw  wittiiftHiiNiiffjsawwatMWj^Jt  ■  r.i  ^tu^ 


.'WTV^r.N"^nA»-r^.'  tttrrfv.v  r^-^f^-'.7«.^^fr^^ap^s,n«wm^qwTOin^;«'•%<E■■vni(*»rI^r^(.^ 


wi*i*»btJ»'W.i^t»«n-iw»»  -twanii 


.'rf?^"^^.^:j<-..ji-i,-ii\k. 


■irr'-'  RfT.<5&nSEr;;^T«RTn%  rwwi;^,-!;* 


IQUKtfmiMNMifWBNU 


'■ 


[ 


THE 


GREAT  BONANZA. 


ILLUSTRATED  NARRATIVE 


OF 


ADVENTURE  AND  DISCOVERT 


IN 


St 

N 
< 

a: 
O 
« 

<J 
W 

a 


' 


GOLD  MINING,  SILVER  MINING,  AMONG  THE  RAFTSMEN,  IN  THE 

OIL  REGIONS,  WHALING,  HUNTING,  FISHING, 

AND  FIGHTING. 


BY 


OLIVER   OPTIC,   R.  M.  BALLANTYNE,   CAPT.  CHAS.  W.  HALL, 
C.  E.  BISHOP,   FRANK   H,  TAYLOR, 


And  othbr  popular  Writers. 


r 


WITH   TWO    HUNDRED    ILLUSTRATIONS, 

Bv    W.    u,  SHEPPARD,    FRANK  MERRILL,   H.   L.   STEPHENS,   MISS   L.    B.    HUMPHREY, 

And  other  well-known  Artists. 


BOSTON: 

LEE    &    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK: 

LEE,     SHEPARD    &    DILLINGHAM. 

1876. 


'^ 


r^SSSr- 


Gr 


Sd: 


^-^ 


^ 


iS  7/7 


!  -f  i  rf 


©opgrigbt; 

^ee    ^   Sljeparti. 

1875. 


i 


S--A^ 


6i€i). 


JUL  2  4  1967 


»f"^ 


^ 
4 


y 


Vrfc. 


*." 


rm^ 


CONTENTS. 

THE    GREAT   BONANZA Ca/'f.  C.  W.  Hall. 

1.  TlIF,    RVN.WVAYS. 

2.  Tin;  Fortunes  of  tiik  Runaways. 

Willi  f>  Illustrations  by  Frank  Merrill. 

VACATION    IN    PETROLIA C  E.  Bishop. .     . 

1.  BouiNG  FOR  Oil. 

2.  Boating  Oil.  —  Fond  Fuesiikts. 

3.  Urs  AND  Downs  ok  the  Oil  Business. 

4.  Pumping  Oil. —  '•  Torpedoing  "  the  Well. 

5.  Marketing  Oil.  — A  Fiery  Freshet. 

6.  Prospecting    for    Territory.  —  Finding    "The  Belt." 

7.  The    Flag-and-Wind.mii.l    Well    No.    2.  —  Conclusion. 

Willi  44  lUuslr.itions  by  Frank  Merrill  and  otiicrs. 

AMONG   THE    RAFTSMEN Frank  H.  Taylor. 

1.  Making  Rafts.  4.    Running  the  Rapids. 

2.  Rafting.  5-    O-^'  the  Rivkr. 

3.  Down  the  Crfek.  6.    Foraging. —Conclusion. 

Willi  s^  r.liistr.itioiis  by  //.   /-.  Stephens. 

THE   CAMP    IN    THE   GULCH Justin  Dale..     . 

1.  The    March.  —  The    Camp.  —  The  Lecture-Course. 

2.  The  Saints  in  the  Valleys  in  the  Mountains. 

3.  The  Shinomos.  or  the  Artists  of  Nature. 

4.  The  Unknown  River. 

5.  Some  Nodle  Red  Men. 

6.  Last  D.\ys.  —  Farewell,  Old  Friends. 

With  26  lilustr.itions  by  W.  L.  Sheppard  .ind  others. 

GETTING    ON    SEA   LEGS An  Old  Salt.      . 

With  5  Illustrations  by  Frank  Merrill. 

WHALING   ON   THE   CROZETS An  Old  Salt.      . 

Willi  2  Ilki5;r.-itions. 

ACROSS   THE    INDIAN    OCEAN.  •     ■     ■     •   An  Old  Salt.      . 

Will-  FuU-p.nge  Illustration. 

GOLD   MINING Chas.  A.  Hoyt.    . 

With  6  Illustrations  by  .Ifiss  L.   B.  Humphrey. 


PAGE 

•   7 


23 


71 


103 


146 

157 
163 
169 


^^•.jk;'. 


I  <      -su 


^  CONTKNTS. 

PAGE 

SILVER   MINING Chas.  A.  Hoyt.    .    .     .174 

Willi  7  Illustrntiont  by  MUt  L.  B.  Humphrey. 

A  LONDON  FIREMAN'S  "NIGHT  OF  IT."   R.  M.  Ballantync.  .     .  181 

Willi  5  Illuslrations  by  Miss  /..  B.  Humphrey. 

SARDINK.S. Geo.  W.  Foxvlc.  .     .     .  iS; 

Where  they  come  from,  .\ni>  how  they  ark  caught. 

Willi  7  lUuslr.itioiis  by  Miss  L.   B.  Ilumphrty. 

ICE    BOATING ^^'- i'-  Duncan.  .     .     .194 

Willi  3  Illiistr.iliiiiis. 

A   BULL-FIGHT    IN   MADRID O/ivcr  Optic.  .     .     .     .  198 

Willi  7  IlUistr.uions. 

YACHTS   AND   YACHTING O/ivcr  Optic 204 

Willi  3  llluslr.uiiiiis. 

LITTLE    BUILDl'-RS Saviiiel  Burnham.  .     .  209 

I.    Beavers.         2.    Termites. 


Willi  9  Illustrations. 


ON   THl-:   WAR    PATH J.  H.  W. 

With  :i'.   Illuslr.ition. 


A   STORY    OF   THI-    OLDI-N    TIMl-:. 

Willi  6  Illustrations. 


BAFFLED    REVENGE. 


.    .  y.H.  W. 
.   .y.H.  IV. 


Willi  2  Illustratirin-^ 


216 

222 
231 

235 


THE    BATTLE   OF   BUNKER    HILL.     .     .    T.  W.  Higgiuson. 

Willi  3  r.:'4''trations  by  Frank  Mcrrili  .md  others. 

VIENNA Mary  Granger  Chase.  .239 

With  6  Illustntiuiis. 

ADVENTURES    OF   A   WILD    GOOSE.       .    Capt.  C.  IV.  Hall.   .     .  245 

With  5  Illusir.itions. 

REMINISCENCES    OF    WEST    AFRICAN 

LIFE Ecki'ard Dusscault,  Jr.  2t,2 

With  2  llliistralions. 

ASHES    OF    ROSES Geo.  M.  Baker.   . 

With  6  Illustrations  by  Miss  L.  B.  Humphrey. 


257 


♦• 


PAGE 

.        •    174 

.        .    181 
•        .    »"/ 

.  .  194 

.  .  198 

.  .  204 

.  .  209 

.        .    216 

.      .  222 
.      .  231 

.      .235 

ise.  .  239 
.     .  245 

t,7r.  252 
.     •  257 


<y 


THE 


GREAT     BONANZA.. 


BY 


CAPT.    CHARLES    W.     HALL, 


AUTHOR    OK    "ADRIFT    IN    THE    ICE    riELDS,"    ETC. 


I»  A  RT     I. 


THE     RUNAWAYS. 


IT  was  nine  o'clock,  and  the  bell  of  the  Riv- 
erport  Academy  had  summoned  its  motley 
throng  of  boys  and  girls  from  their  favorite 
plav-ground,  the  sandy  knoll  in  front.  Mr. 
Stone,  the  principal,  seated  himself  at  his 
desk  on  the  high  platform  and  struck  his  little 
bell  sharply :  instantly  the  girls  ceased  their 
smiles,  their  flirting  of  gay  head-ribbons  and 
glossy  curls,  and  the  furtive  whispers,  which 
sought  to  finish  the  communication  inter- 
rupted by  the  school-bell ;  the  boys  braced 
themselves  sharply  back  in  their  seats,  folded 
their  arms,  and  were  silent. 

"  Boys,  answer  to  your  names,"  said  the 
principal,  as  the  lady  assistant  opened  the  re- 
gister, and  in  clear,  distinct  tones  read  off  the 
surnames  of  the  boy  scholars. 

"Appleton,  Amc:,  Amory,  Bearse,  Barry, 
Boyd  —  Boyd  }  —  " 

■  The  first  five  nan>es  had  been  promptly  an- 
swered by  the  monosyllable  "Here;"  but  as 
the  principal  heard  the  sixth  name  repeated, 


without  an  answer,  ho  frowned  angrily,  and 
made  a  gesture;  the  reader  understood,  and 
all  was  silence. 

"  How  long  has  Edward  Boyd  been  absent, 
Miss  Nye?" 

"This  is  the  third  half  day,  sir,"  answered 
the  lady. 

"  Is  your  cousin  sick,  Amory.'" 

The  question  was  asked  of  a  tall,  pale  lad, 
the  son  of  the  guardian  of  the  absent  scholar, 
—  for  Edward  Boyd  was  an  orphan,  the  only 
son  of  a  sea  captain,  who  had  amassed  much 
wealth  only  to  die,  leaving  his  motherless  boy 
to  the  guardianship  of  Squire  Amory  —  a 
grasping  and  unamiable  man.  It  was  well 
known  among  the  villagers  that  the  dead  fa- 
ther's wealth  hrtd  been  unable  to  secure  either 
comfort  or  a  happy  home  for  his  child  among 
his  envious  relations. 

"  He  started  for  school  yesterday  morning 
with  Sam  Nevins,  and  hasn't  been  home  since, 
sir,"  said  Stephen  Amory,  with  a  slight  sneer. 
"  Father  thinks  he  has  gone  to  see  his  grand- 
father at  Concord." 

At  that  moment  came  a  sharp  knock  at  the 
outer  door:  the  monitor  answered  the  sum- 
mons, and  soon  returned,  followed  by  one  of 
the  constables  of  the  town,  who  spoke  a  few 
words  to   the   master   in  a  grave   tone.     Mr. 


8 


T 1 1 1;    c;  R  i:  A  T    bonanza. 


Sfonc  palod,   thcti   ilcarcil    Iiis  voice,  aiul  ail- 
dri'ssed  the  scholars  :  — 

"I  am  sonv  to  learn  that  lulwani  litivd 
and  Sam  Xevins,  who  phiyed  truant  yesterday, 
\vere  seen  in  a  hoat  at  tlu-  Old  Ilarhor  at  the 
time,  hy  a  fisherman,  goiii^c  outside.  This 
niornim,'  their  hf)at  ^vas  found  ailrit't,  with  an 
old  suit  of  clothes  in  the  holtom,  and  Mrs. 
Neyins  has  identified  them  as  belontjintc  to  her 
son.  It  is  feared  that  he  ^vent  in  hathitifj,  and 
thai  sf)me  sad  accident  has  occurred,  in  which 
botli  lioys  have  lost  their  lives." 

The  silence  for  an  instant  was  awful  in  its 
completeness;  then  a  shriek  was  heard  on  the 
fjirls'  side,  and  I-aura  .\mory,  a  quiet,  delicate 
girl  of  twelve,  fainted  in  her  seal,  and  all  was 
hustle  and  confusion  for  a  moment,  while  tears 
and  sobs  testified  to  the  sorrow  of  the  children 
for  their  lost  [ilaymates.  Miss  Nye,  however, 
with  two  of  the  older  girls,  took  the  insensi- 
ble form  to  the  recitation-room,  and  Mr.  Stone 
spoke  again,  in  tones  far  different  from  his 
usual  sharp  accent :  — 

"  We  will  hope  for  the  best ;  and  as  the  boys 
of  the  school  are  accustomed  to  spend  their 
holidays  among  the  wooded  islands  and  the 
beech  hills  below,  it  is  requested  that  you 
join  the  search  for  your  missing  companions. 
School  is  accordingly  dismissed  for  the  day; 
you  will  find  at  the  pier  several  large  boats 
ready  to  take  you  down  (he  harbor." 

It  is  not  my  intentio.i  to  describe  the  futile 
search,  which  lasted  several  days,  or  the  use- 
less dragging  of  the  oozy  channels  near  the 
shore  where  the  boat  was  found  ;  but  neither 
"  Ed  "  nor  "  Sam  "  was  found,  and  the  letters 
despatched  to  the  different  parts  of  the  cou,n- 
try  by  the  guardian  of  the  former  were  only 
answered  by  expressions  of  alarm  and  svmia- 
thy.  The  village  paper  was  full  of  unusual 
interest  for  a  fortnight,  with  particulars  of 
"A  Mysterious  Disappearance,"  "A  Sad 
Occurrence;"  and  a  liberal  extract  from  the 
sermon  preached  by  the  good  old  minister, 
when  there  could  be  but  little  doubt  that  the 
salt  sea  had  indeed  swallowed  up  our  play- 
mates. 

In  poorer  taste,  and  productive  of  much 
comment,  was  an  address  to  the  Sunday 
school  by  Mr.  Amory,  who  drew  from  "  a 
recent  sad  occurrence,  a  solemn  warning  to 
truant  scholars  and  disobedient  children  ;  "nor 
was  the  public  indignation  lessened  when,  in 
his  wife's  name,  he  laid  claim  to  the  entire 
property  of  his  nephew,  and  obtained  it,  with- 
out paying  even  the  cheap  tribute  of  a  marble 
slab  to  the  memory  of  the  dead  boy. 

Poor  Mrs.  Kevins  wept   much  over  her  lost 


boy;  but  the  poor  have  many  sorrows,  and 
the  widow's  struggles  to  obtain  a  support  for 
her  tjiree  remaining  chiklreii  soon  blunted 
the  poignancy  of  her  grief,  and  the  fate  of 
both  the  boys  was  forgotten  in  the  constant 
changes  of  human  life,  or  reiallei!  onl v  by  a 
few,  who  could  scarcely  I'orget  the  stout  form 
anil  rosy  cheeks  of  luKlie  lioyd,  and  the  tliinly- 
dad  lindis,  and  colorless,  resolute  face  of  Sam 
Nevins. 

That  «as  fourteen  years  ago.  A  long  time 
since,  as  one  of  the  elderboys,  I  had  graduated 
from  the  luademy,  and  after  six  vears  of  stu<ly, 
had  returned  to  Riverport  to  practise  medi- 
cine; for  the  old  family  doctor  had  become 
feeble,  and  wanted  a  younger  man  to  visit  his 
patients  far  away  down  the  sandy  coast,  or  to 
face  the  driving  rain  and  sharp,  short  seas, 
when  a  sudilen  summons  came  from  the  fish- 
ing hamlets  among  the  islands. 

One  night,  when  a  north-easter  was  driving 
the  sleety  snow,  like  clouds  of  IJliputian 
arrows,  into  the  smarting  face  of  the  traveller, 
and  the  war  of  the  breakers  on  the  bar  below 
came  up  the  b.iy  like  the  distant  slogan  of  a 
charging  brigade,  I  received  a  summons  which 
I  could  not  deny,  for  it  called  me  to  the  bed- 
side of  the  old  fisherman,  who  had  last  set 
eyes  on  the  missing  lads.  He  had  fallen  from 
the  mast  of  his  large  boat,  and  broken  his 
arm,  besides  receiving  other  injuries,'  and  it 
wa«  feared  that  he  was  dying. 

A  stanch  whale-boat,  with  live  skilled  oars- 
men, awaited  me  at  the  wharf;  but  the  pas- 
sage was  long  and  doubtful,  and  the  short, 
sharp  seas  fdled  the  craft  half  way  to  her 
gunwale,  before  we  at  last  landed  upon  the 
island. 

I  found  my  patient,  old  Job  Fisher,  anxious- 
ly expecting  my  coining;  and  after  looking  at 
the  fracture,  — a  simple  one  of  the  bone  above 
the  elbow,  —  I  proceeded  to  examine  into  his 
other  injuries.  These  ,vere  more  serious ;  he 
had  struck  heavily  on  his  breast  and  side, 
among  the  ballast,  and  drew  his  breath  with 
much  difliculty,  and  in  great  pain.  I  set  the 
bone,  left  some  simple  alleviating  medicines, 
and  was  about  to  take  my  leave,  when  the  pa- 
tient suddenly  asked  to  speak  with  me  alone, 
and  the  rest  of  the  family  rose  and  left  the 
room. 

"  I  want  to  know,  doctor,"  said  he,  "  what 
you  think  of  my  case.     Can  I  recover.'" 

I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  answered 
frankly,  "  I  can't  tell  now,  Mr.  Fisher,  for 
your  serious  injuries  are  internal,  and  a  day 
or  two  must  elapse  before  I  can  say.  You 
must  hope   for  the  best ;  and   I   need   not  tell 


•t- 


THE     GRKAT     BONANZA. 


orrows,  and 
support  for 
:)oii  blunted 
the  filtc  of 
he  constant 
L'd  onlv  hy  a 
(-■  stout  form 
(I  the  tliinly- 
lacc  of  Sam 

A  loiii^  time 
id  t^rachiatcd 
ars  of  study, 
actisc  medi- 
had   become 
1  to  visit  his 
cf)ast,  or  to 
short  seas, 
om  the  fish- 
was  driving 
Liliputian 
he  travellor, 
le  bar  l)elow 
slogan  of  a 
mons  which 
!  to  the  bed- 
had  last  set 
fallen  from 
broken    his 
ries,  and  it 

killed  oars- 
)Ut  the  pas- 
the  short, 
ivav  to  her 
.1   upon   the 

er,  anxious- 
r  looking  at 
bone  above 
inc  into  his 
serious;  he 
t  and  side, 
breath  with 
I.  I  set  the 
medicines, 
hen  the  pa- 
1  nie  alone, 
uid  left  the 

he,  "  what 
ver  ?" 

n  answered 
Fisher,  for 
,  and  a  day 
say.  You 
:ed   not  tell 


i' 


you  that  quiet  and  cheerfulness  are  your  best 
remedies." 

The  fisherman  sighed  heavily,  and  then  said, 
"I  sec  that  you  fear  the  worst,  and  I  hope 
that  God's  will  will  jirovt  r.'v  happiness ;  bit 
there  is  one  tliiiiu;  that  has  \veighe<l  upon  my 
mind.  You  remember  the  time  the  two  lads 
were  said  to  be  drowned,  Scjuire  Amory's 
nephew,  and  the  other.'  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  do." 

"  Well,  'twas  the  squire  and  I  that  came 
across  the  boat  in  the  little  cove  at  the  back 
of  the  island.  I  rowed  up  to  her,  and  the 
squire  looked  in  ;  a  queer  smile  came  over  his 
face,  and  then  he  checked  it  like,  and  said, 
'  Poor  fellows,  they've  been  drowned.  There's 
no  doubt  of  it.' 

"  Well,  I  didn't  think  at  first  but  what  it 
might   have   been    so.      I  towed  the  boat  up 


I 


towards  the  town  ;  but  as  I  rowed  up,  it  came 
into  my  mind  that  the  boat  was  driftiiiff  ayvay 
from  the  shore  xihen  tic  found  it,  and  some- 
how or  other,  I  didn't  feel  satisfied  that  the 
boys  had  been  lost  out  of  her.  Then  we  got 
to  the  wharf,  and  the  squire  told  everybody 
how  the  boat  iad  been  found  adrift,  and  the 
clothes  of  one  boy  in  her;  and  so  all  hands 
believed  that  Sam  had  gone  in  swimming,  and 
got  the  cramp,  and  that  Eddie  was  lost  in  try- 
ing to  save  him. 

"  Well,  sir,  the  boat,  when  we  got  her,  v/as 
all  ship-shape,  with  two  pairs  of  sculls  stowed 
under  the  seats,  with  thole-pins  shipped  and 
baler  aft,  just  as  we  haul  our  dories  up  on  the 
beach;  and  when  I  got  home,  my  John  said, 
'Father,  there  wae  an  extra  high  tide  to-day, 
and  our  dories  at  the  Point  got  adrift  before  I 
thought  of  it,  and  gave  me  a  long  row.' 


"  Next  morning  the  squire  came  down,  and 
talked  to  me  about  dragging  for  the  bodies. 
Says  I,  '  '-re,  there's  a  chance  them  boys  is 
alive  yet  ;■  alio  then  I  Id  him  about  the  do- 
ries, ami  that  the  wind  and  tiile  would  never 
ha\e  carried  a  boat  into  that  cove  from  any 
other  part  of  the  bay.  '  It's  my  opinion,'  I 
says  to  him, 'that  they've  run  away,  and  left 
the  boat  there,  and  tlie  tide  came  up  higher 
than   they  expected.' 

"  '  You  talk  like  a  fool,'  says  he,  as  wrathy  as 
•■ould  be;  'don't  say  anything  like  that  to 
anybody  else,  for  you'll  only  excite  false  hope, 
that'll  never  be  realized.  I  shall  be  very  angry 
if  you  do,  and  I  know  you  love  home  too  well 
to  ilisplease  me.' 

"That  was  the  only  time  in  my  life  that  I 
was  afraid  to  speak  right  out  as  I  thought. 
The  season  had  been  unfavorable;  the  squire 
held  a  mortgage  on  my  little  place,  and  I  said 
nothing.  I  don't  know  whether  I  did  right  or 
not.  but  I  never  yet  felt  as  though  those  boys 
were  dead." 

"  Well,  Job,  I  will  keep  your  secret,  although 
I  think  that  the  boys  must  be  dead,  or  else  we 
should  have  heard  something  of  them  in  all 
these  years.  \ow,  don't  talk  any  more,  and 
don't  worry  about  Squire  Amory's  misuse  of 
his  power  over  you,  for  there  are  few  who 
would  not  have  done  exactly  as  you  did  ;  "  and 
leaving  my  patient  I  retin-ned  home. 

Job  Fisher  did  not  die,  but  his  recovery  was 
slow  and  doubtful;  antl  before  he  could  again 
accompany  his  sons  to  the  fishing-grounds,  I 
was  suddenly  called  upon  by  Stephc'i  Amory,. 
for  my  senior  was  away  on  a  short  visit.  His 
father  had  had  an  attack  of  apoplexy. 

On  arriving,  I  found  that  the  attack  was 
slight;  one  of  those  warnings,  not  to  be  neg- 
lected, of  a  danger  which  may  be  avoided 
by  proper  remedies,  a  suitable  dietary,  and  a 
careful  avoidance  of  cverjthing  that  tends  to 
irritate  or  excite  the  brain.  The  usual  reme- 
dies soon  restored  him,  and  he  was  borne 
from  his  library,  where  the  servant  had  been 
called  to  his  aid,  to  liis  chamber.  As  I  gath- 
ered up  my  instruments,  I  foimd  on  the  floor 
a  letter  which  he  had  evidently  dropr>f  I  '  om 
his  hand.  It  was  small,  and  written  oi:  a  liirty 
fly  leaf,  in  a  painfully  cranip.d  hand.  In  ';■  ,)es 
to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  attack,  I  read  the 
short  missive,  which  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"New  York  April  6  1865 
Squier  Amory 

this  is  too  let  you  no  that  Eddy 
is  Sick,  and  i  am  Afrade  hee  will  Ay.  I  am  Sick, 
to,  the  'loktor  ses,  we  hav  tifuss  fever,  the 
mann  who  kepcs  the  hows  Mr.  James  Tranor, 


■MRWM 


lO 


THE    GREAT    BONANZA. 


I 


sais  liee  will  doo  his  best,  till  yu  kum.  llee 
livs  alt  Number  123  east  34  Street.  Kum  rite 
awaj'  3'urs     Samuel  Nevins." 

The  paper  almost  dropped  from  my  hands, 
as  I  realized  the  cruelty  and  deceit  of  the  man 
■whose  life  I  had  just  helped  to  lengthen.  The 
fisherman's  story  was  not  without  its  bearing, 
then;  and  folding  the  paper,  I  placed  it  in  my 
medicine  case  for  future  use,  should  time  bring 
round  a  day  of  reckoning.  On  following  the 
patient  to  his  chamber,  I  found  him  much 
more  comfortable;  and  making  an  appoint- 
ment for  a  visit  the  following  day,  I  returned 
home. 

The  next  morning  I  found  the  old  man  sit- 
ting up  in  an  easy-chair,  and  tried  to  draw 
from  him  the  cause  of  his  indisposition.  I 
questioned  him  about  his  diet,  inquired  into 
liis  occupation  of  late,  told  him  I  "  knew  that 
undue  use  of  ardent  spirits  could  not  be  the 
cause  of  it,"  and  finally  gave  him  the  advice 
so  often  given  to  those  similarly  attacked,  and 
so  often  neglected,  or  given  too  late,  when  it 
is  impossible  for  the  patient  to  follow  it. 

"You  must  accept  this  first  and  slight  at- 
tack as  a  warning;  the  next  may  be  fatal ;  but 
the  third  is  a  summons  from  which  there  can 
be  no  appeal.  Medicine  can  do  but  little  to 
rjd  you.  A  light  diet,  very  moderate  exercise, 
avoidance  of  extreme  heat  and  impure  air, 
aiiu  the  enjoyment  of  what  the  apostle  styles 
*a  mind  void  of  offence  toward  God  and 
man,'  will  keep  the  life-torrent  in  its  wonted 
channels,  and  prevent  the  suffusion  of  the 
brain." 

"  Can  you  not  give  my  son  or  wife  direc- 
tions that  they  can  follow,  previous  to  your 
arrival,  in  case  of  another  attack.'" 

"  Certainly,  although  the  chance  of  their 
materially  aiding  you  is  very  remote  indeed." 

The  word  "  chance  "  seemed  to  excite  him  a 
little.  "  If  you  had  had  my  experience,  doc- 
tor, 3'ou  would  not  sp^'ak  slightingly  of 
chances.  I  have  known  men  on  the  brink 
of  ruin,  who  had  but  one  remote  chance  in 
their  favor.  They  took  it  and  are  rich  men 
to-day." 

I  longed  to  teli  him  that  I  knew  of  the 
chance  that  had  given  me  the  clew  to  the  fate 
of  his  lost  nephew,  so  cruelly  left  to  die  in 
some  obscure  boarding-house  of  the  distant 
city;  but  I  saw  the  flush  upon  his  face,  and 
paused.  I  was  a  physician,  and  knew  my 
duty. 

"You  are  getting  excited.  Squire  Amory. 
The  discussion  would  be  interesting,  no  doubt, 
but  you  must  rest  until  yOu  are  stronger." 


The  gray  eyes  lost  their  keen,  triumphant 
glance,  and  the  successful  plotter  was  lost  in 
the  enfeebled  and  apprehensive  invalid. 

"  You  think  that  any  unexpected  and  excit- 
ing emotion  would  be  dangerous — do  you, 
iloctoi  .'  " 

"I  should  fear  the  worst,"  said  I,  gravely, 
"  although  the  third  attack  i.;  generally  tne 
fatal  visitation.  In  your  state  of  health,  your 
life  should  be  attended  by  the  love  oi  those 
around  you,  and  that  calm  hope  of  a  better 
and  higher  life  which  secures  the  soul  from 
the  vexations  and  disappointments  of  this 
stage  of  existence." 

"  I  think  I  may  claim  such  a  hope,  doctor, 
notwithstanding  the  slanders  and  backbiting 
of  some  who  are  but  a  hinderance  and  a  scan- 
dal to  the  church  in  which  I  have  been  a 
member  for  thirty  years." 

The  color  was  rising  again  in  his  flushed 
cheeks,  and  raising  an  admonitory  finger,  I 
bowed  and  took  my  leave. 

Two  years  after  that,  a  great  surprise  elec- 
trified Riverport,  and  set  all  the  lovers  of 
gossip  in  a  perfect  fever  of  excitement.  Mrs. 
Xevins,  at  the  close  of  a  day  of  unusually 
hard  labor,  was  returning  homeward,  worn 
out  in  body  and  mind,  when  suddenly,  as  she 
turned  into  the  narrow  lane  that  led  from  the 
main  street  to  the  door  of  her  cottage,  a  man 
heavily  bearded,  but  young  and  well  dressed, 
accosted  her,  and  asked  her  name. 

"  Now  don't  be  afeard,  marm,  for  if  I  am  a 
rough  customer,  I've  come  this  time  on  a  wel- 
cum  arind  to  you ;  thct  is,  ef  you're  the  widder 
Nevins." 

"That  is  what  I've  been  called  ever  since 
Joshua  —  that's  my  husband  as  was  —  was  lost 
in  the  Arethusy." 

"  Wal,  my  arind's  soon  done,  if  you  can 
answer  a  few  questions.  You  had  a  son  Sain 
once,  I  b'lieve." 

"  Yes,  he  was  drowned  long  of  —  " 

"  Ned  Boyd,  I  s'pose  you  was  about  ter  say. 
Say  now,  marm,  I've  heerd  that  story  afore, 
an'  know  about  the  boat,  an'  the  clo'es.  Now, 
was  there  anything  in  the  pockets.'" 

"  Nothin'  but  a  little  Test'ment  his  teacher 
gin  him  at  Sunday  school,  an'  thet  hcd  — " 

"  Exactly,  marm,  es  you  say,  I  s'pose;  but 
could  you  let  me  see  the  Testyment,  —  that  is, 
cf  jou've  no  objection  ter  my  goin'  down  ter 
the  house  with  you." 

A  ncj;ativc  could  scarcely  be  given,  and  the 
stranger  entered  the  house,  whose  dilapidated 
walls  and  poorly  furnished  interior  evidently 
caused  him  much  surprise,  as  evinced  by  a 
low,  but  long-continued  whistle.  He,  however, 


f 

I 


' 


't 


%, 


THE     GREAT     130NANZA. 


II 


,  triumphant 

:r  was  lost  in 

rivalid. 

cd  and  excit- 

is  —  do    you, 

d  I,  gravely, 
lenerally  tne 
lioalth,  your 
ove  oi'  thos^e 
2  of  a  better 
he  soul  from 
ents   of    this 

lope,  doctor, 
d  backbiting 
e  and  a  scan- 
lavc   been    a 

1  his  flushed 
ory  finger,  I 

surprise  elec- 
le  lovers  of 
•ment.  Mrs. 
jf  unusually 
5ward,  worn 
denly,  as  she 
led  from  the 
jttage,  a  man 
ivell  dressed, 

for  if  I  am  a 
me  on  a  wel- 
re  the  widder 

d  ever  since 
as  —  was  lost 

I  if  you  can 
id  a  son  Sam 


bout  ter  say. 
story  afore, 


Now, 


Jo'es. 

s.'" 

it  his  teacher 

;t  hed  —  " 

I  s'pose  ;  but 

nt,  —  that  is, 

oin'  down  ter 

iven,  and  the 
ic  dilapidated 
•ior  evidently 
evinced  by  a 
lie,  however, 


made  no  remark,  but  taking  the  book,  held  it 
up  to  the  solitary  candle  for  a  moment,  and 
then  from  under  his  ample  cloak  took  a  stout 
and  heavy  bag. 

■'I'm  satisfied,  marm,  that  you're  all  right, 
and  you'll  be  able  after  this,  I  veckon,  to  stay 
at  hum  an'  take  things  easier.  Ef  I  don't  tell 
you  all  I  might,  it's  because  I  hes  strict  orders, 
an'  I  alius  keep  my  word.  Look  at  tlie  fly- 
leaf of  the  Testyment,  an'  you'll  understand." 
So  saying,  he  left  his  burden  on  ihe  supper 
table,  and  strode  up  the  lane,  while  his  lis- 
tener, motionless  with  the  struggling  of 
conflicting  emotions,  could  only  watch  his 
retreating  figure,  and  wonder  what  new  trial 
Heaven  had  in  store  for  her. 

At  last  she  mechanically  opened  the  book, 
long  kept  in  memory  of  the  boy,  whose  loss 
had  been  one  of  the  heaviest  of  the  many 
attacks  of  adverse  fortune.  The  book  had 
been  left  in  a  mutilated  condition,  for  a  bright 
gilded  prize-card,  one  of  her  few  simple  gifts 
to  her  wayward  boy,  had  been  torn  from  the 
fly-leaf  on  which  it  i;aj  been  pasted.  The 
missing  portion  had  been  restored  by  the 
stranger:  the  little  card,  strangely  faded, 
blurred,  and  creased,  still  bore  the  almost 
illegible  legend,  "  For  this  my  son  was  dead,  ' 
and  is  alive  again;  he  was  lost,  and  is  found." 
The  children  had  already  opened  tlie  bag 
and  poured  its  little  store  of  broad  gold  eagles 
on  the  rickety  table;  but  even  the  conscious- 
ness of  release  from  menial  labor  and  cease- 
less care  could  not  lurn  the  mother's  heart 
from  its  veaT.ings  after  her  lost  darling. 
Taking  her  worn  cloak  and  bonnet,  she  went 
out  into  the  darkness,  and  sought  everywhere 
through  the  little  village;  but  no  one  save  the 
landlord  of  the  tavern  knew  anything  of  the 
stranger,  whose  horse  had  been  fed  while  his 
master  took  his  supper,  and  then  rode  off, 
without  exchanging  more  words  than,  were 
needed  to  explain  his  wishes,  and  settle  the 
bill. 

That  same  evening,  however,  I  was  again 
summoned  to  attend  Squire  Amory.  who  had 
once  more  been  attacked  by  apoplexy.  I  lost 
no  time  in  applying  the  proper  remedies,  and 
was  again  successful  in  restoimg  him  to  con- 
sciousness. As  we  carried  him  to  his  room, 
his  eyes  met  mine,  and  before  I  left,  he  feebly 
enunciated  the  words,  "Come  to-morrow." 
I  nodded  acquiescence,  and  returned  to  my 
office,  to  think  over  my  duty  in  tiiis  perplex- 
ing case.  It  was  late  at  night  when  I  slept, 
but  I  felt  satisfied  as  to  what  steps  to  take,  and 
my  decision  was  final. 

On  this  occasion  I  found  "  the  squire  "much 


enfeebled,  and  greatly  depressed.  He  was  still 
too  weak  to  sit  up,  and  as  I  entered,  Stephen, 
his  eldest  son,  stood  by  the  foot  of  the  couch, 
leaning  against  the  heavy  rosewood  post,  with 
a  half-threatening,  half-sullen  look  on  his  pale, 
delicately-chiselled  features.  Tears  were  in  the 
old  man's  eyes,  and  it  was  at  once  apparent  to 
me  that  some  topic  of  exciting  interest  had 
been  considered,  previous  to  my  coming. 

I  greeted  my  old  schoolmate,  but  received 
no  answer  save  a  sullen  "Good  eve. ling," 
saying  which,   the  young  man  left  the  room. 

■'  I  am  glad  to  find  you  better  this  morning, 
Mr.  Amory,  but  I  was  in  hopes  that  you  would 
have  escaped  a  second  attack  altogether." 

"  Yes,  doctor,  and  so  did  I ;  but  I  have  liad 
too   much  trouble,  and  a  great  deal  of  busi- 


ness, and  last  night  a  man  called  upon  me, 
a.id  his  visit  upset  me  altogether." 

"Why,  Mr.  Amory  1  I  thought  you  a 
braver  man  than  that.  Did  he  oflTer  any  vio- 
lence .' " 

The  sick  man  regained  something  of  the  old, 
stern,  grave  dignity  which  had  so  often  awed 
me  in  boyhood,  and  I  almost  felt  as  in  the 
vears  gone  by,  when  his  seair'.iing  eye  had 
mar'a  an  entire  class  of  unrriy  boys  tremble 
at  the  discovery  of  oi.;r  raid  o\i  orchards  and 
melon  patches,  or  some  petty  act  of  insubor- 
dination, which  had  necessitated  the  interpo- 
sition of  "  the  committee." 

"  Can  I  trust  you,  doctor,  implicitly,  in  a 
matter  of  the  greatest  importance.'"  he  said, 
witli  a  glance  which  was  strangely  compounded 
of  trained  sagacity  and  imploring  helpless- 
ness. 


tSiSaisaSiSmSlmai, 


.r 


BlMIIBiJKxiiM 


12 


THK     GREAT    BONANZA. 


t 


"I  came  here  this  morning,  Mr.  Amory, 
with  my  mind  fully  m:ule  up  on  one  point; 
tliat  is,  to  tell  you  that,  in  my  poor  opinion, 
the  cause  of  your  mahuly  is  one  that  1  ran  not 
reach  with  medicine  or  cure  h\-  ret;inien.  If 
you  ha\i'  a  mental  anxiety  uliich  you  wish  tr 
communiiate,  I  will  keep  it  as  sacredly  as  tlv 
tratlitions  of  our  profession  demano,  and  I 
will  do  all  that  I  can  to  aid  you  in  anything 
in  which  I  can  be  of  an}-  assistance  to  do 
away   with  the   cause  of  \our  disease." 

•■  I  will  tell  you  then."  said  the  sick  man, 
tremblingly.  "  I  have  lost  all  my  property." 
"What .'"said  I,  in  amazement;  "lost  all 
your  property.'  Vou.  the  president  of  the 
Riverport  Bank,  ami  the  largest  stockholder.' 
The  holder  of  so  much  real  estate,  and  —  " 

"  It  is  as  I  say,  doctor.  Last  year  I  was  a 
rich  man,  and  might  have  been  still,  if  I  had 
been  contented  to  amass  wealth  in  the  old, 
safe  way;  but  I  dabbled  in  silver  mining 
stocks,  and  a  day  or  two  ago  an  important 
lawsuit  was  decided  against  our  company, 
and  its  stock  fell  from  one  hundred  dollars  to 
fifty-five  dollars  per  share.  I  held  three  thou- 
sand shares,  and  I  lost  almost  all  that  I  was 
worth." 

"  But  you  were  worth  nearly  two  hundred 
tliousand  dollars,  according  to  the  general 
estimate,  Mr.  Amory;  and  that  leaves  you 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars,  ev<  n  if  your 
stocks  should  continue  at  their  pr  ;sent  low 
figure." 

"  I  thought  so,  too  ;  but  last  night  —  There, 
doctor,  I  can't  tell  it.  Take  that  pape-  and 
read  for  yourself"  I 

He  handed  me  an  envelope,  bearing  the 
well-known  imprint  of  a  legal  firm  of  New  I 
York.  The  letter  enclosed  made  a  courteous 
demand  "  for  an  account  of  the  estate  ci 
Edward  Boyd,  now  resident  in  Virginia  Ci'iv, 
Nevada,  to  whom  you  were  appointed  guar- 
dian in  iS.sS." 

I  felt  that  it  would  be  both  crue  and  useless 
to  feign  surprise,  and  wonder  at  such  a  claim 
from  one  long  deemed  among  the  dead,  ..rd 
therefore  took  the  straight  road  to  an  under- 
standing. 

"  I  have  for  some  time  had  my  doubts  that 
your  lost  nephew  was  really  dead  ;  and  so  this 
demand  is  not  such  a  surprise  to  me  as  it 
would  be  to  our  fellow-townsmi-n.  Will  the 
claim  ruin  you.  if  enforced.'" 

"Wholly.  The  estate,  with  accumulated 
interest,  amounts  to  over  one  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars!  The  messenger  who  brought 
this  — a  rough  miner,  apparently  —  said  that 
he   would   come  for  un   answer  to-niyht.     '  I 


would  advise  ye,'  said  he,  '  to  pay  more  'ten- 
tion  ter  this  letter  than  ye  did  ter  the  one  the 
sick  boy  wrote  ter  ye  frum  New  York.'  " 

Amory's  I'eelings  had  evidently  led  him  far- 
ther than  he  had  intended  to  g-  ai  his  com- 
munications to  me,  for  he  caught  his  breath, 
as  if  choking,  and  peered  at  me  uneasily  from 
under  his  long  white  lashes. 

"  I  knew  of  that  letter  two  years  ago.  Mr. 
Amory,  and  therefore  you  need  not  hesitate. 
What  else  did  he  say.'" 

"I  don't  know  how  you  came  to  know  so 
much  about  my  alTairs,  doctor:  but  the  rest 
of  the  story  is  short.  '  The  boys  hev  struck 
it  rich,'  said  the  stranger,  '  an'  they've  sworn 
ter  hev  the  last,  cent  you  owe  Ned.  I  reckon 
they  knew  how  Ophir  stock  was  like  to  pav, 
when  they  got  Overburv  to  rope  in  the  presi- 
dent of  the  Riverport  Bank.  Good  night, 
stranger.  I'll  take  your  answer  to-morrow 
night.'  Now.  doctor,  \o\\  see  my  position. 
My  fault  has  been  punished  with  the  loss  of 
the  work  of  a  lifetime,  and  my  unkindness 
brought  forth  its  harvest  of  revenge.  What 
shall  I  do.'" 

"  There  is  only  one  way  to  do,  and  that  is, 
to  make  the  most  complete  reparation  possi- 
ble. Give  up  everything,  confess  your  fault, 
and  seek  a  reconciliation." 

The  door  opened  sharply,  and  Stephen 
Amory  entered.  His  eyes  blazed  with  rage 
and  scorn  as  he  rushed  to  his  father's  bed- 
side. 

"  Are  you  mad.  father,"  said  he,  "  to  listen 
to  such  cowardly  advice.'  Will  you  make  your- 
self the  byword  of  Riverport,  and  beggar 
Laura  and  myself.'  What  do  you  know  of  this 
stranger.'  or  who  can  tell  but  what  this  is 
some  trumped-up  claim,  preferred  by  an  im- 
postor.'" 

"  Stephen,"  said  the  old  man,  "  oe  silent. 
Call  in  your  mother  and  sister  at  once." 

The  young  man  hesitated. 

"  If  you  wish  them  to  sec  him  again  in  life, 
obey  him,"  I  whisi.rcd,  for  I  feared  the  worst, 
as  I  saw  the  increased  color  of  the  invalid. 

in  a  few  moments  the  ladies  entered  the 
room.  The  squire  motioned  them  to  his 
bedside.  ♦ 

"  I  once  did  a  very  wicked  and  cruel  thing," 
said  he,  ■'  and  tlie  God  of  the  '';ithcrless  has 
visited  me  in  displeasure.  Your  nephew  and 
cousin  Edward  is  not  dead,  and  as  I,  in  my 
avarice,  neglected  his  appeal  when  sick  in  New 
York,  he  has  sought  my  ruin.  Heavy  losses 
of  late  have  left  me  with  nothing  but  the 
estate  of  his  dead  father,  and  now  he  sends  to 
demand   it.      Stephen    wishes   me  to   stand  a 


^ 


1 


y  more  'ten- 
■  tlie  one  the 
ork.'  " 
led  liim  far- 
.11  his  coin- 
t  his  breath, 
iicasily  from 

:irs  ago.  Mr. 
lot  liesitate. 

to  know  so 
but  the  rest 
•  liev  struck 
ey've  sworn 
i.     I  reckon 

like  to  pay, 
n  the  prcsi- 
lood    niglit, 

to-morrow 
ly  position. 

the  loss  of 

unkindness 
nge.     What 

and  that  is, 
ation  possi- 
i  your  fault, 

id  Stephen 
1  with  rage 
ither's  bed- 

,  "  to  listen 
make  your- 
md  beggar 
now  of  this 
hat  this  is 
1  by  an  im- 

"  oe  silent, 
nee." 

?ain  in  life, 
:i  the  worst, 
invalid, 
mtered  the 
:m  to  his 
t 

•ucl  thing," 
lierlcss  has 
ephew  and 
si,  in  my 
sick  in  New 
eavy  losses 
ng  but  the 
he  sends  to 
to   stand  a 


THE    GREAT    BONANZA. 


13 


1 


suit  at  law.  I  am  tired  of  strife,  and  weary 
of  unjust  gain.  What  sliall  I  do,  wife.'  What 
say  you,  Laura.' '" 

Mrs.  Amory  was  not  a  lovable  woman  ;  l)ut 
duty,  with  her,  was  an  iron  code,  not  to  be 
set  aside  for  love  or  fear. 

"  If  3'ou  feel  that  it  is  your  duty  to  give  up 
all,  surrender  the  last  cent,  and  the  very  roof 
above  us." 

"And  you,  Laura,  what  say  you,  child?" 
said  the  squire,  eagerly. 

Laura's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  her 
cheeks  were  as  pale  as  death,  but  she  kept  back 
sill  other  signs  of  emotion  as  she  answered,  — 
■'  We  shall  not  be  poor,  fatlier,  as  long  as 
•we  possess  the  love  of  God  and  the  affection 
of  each   ;ther." 

The  old  man's  face  lost  its  threatening  glow, 
and  a  look  of  calm  contrition  softened  his 
liarsli  features.  The  dying  sun  cast  his  de- 
clining rays  into  the  chamber,  and  the  invalid 
saw  that  night  was  near  a*^  hand. 

"You  have  chosen  well,  I  feel  assured. 
The  messenger  who  is  to  take  my  answer  will 
soon  be  here,  and  shall  be  admitted  to  receive 
the  message  in  your  presence." 

At  that  moment,  a  quick,  sharp  knock 
sounded  at  the  door,  and  the  servant  was  in- 
structed to  show  the  stranger  into  the  sick 
room.  His  heav;,  tramp  up  the  broad  stairs 
sounded  menacing,  and  I  met  him  outside  the 
door. 

"Mr.  Amory  has  had  an  apoplectic  attack, 
a  d  the  next  will  probably  be  fatal,"  said  I. 
"  He  will  give  you  his  answer  inside.  Please 
to  be  as  gentle  as  you  can,  and  do  not  excite 
him." 

In  the  twilight  of  the  corridor  I  could  not 
distinguish  the  expression  of  my  companion's 
face,  but  I  fancied  that  his  voice  faltered  as  he 
answered,  — 

"Never  fear,  stranger.  I  lies  my  orders; 
but  I  never  strike  a  man  when  he's  down." 
"  Come  in,  then,"  said  I ;  and  we  entered. 
"  I  hev  come  fur  your  answer,"  said  the 
stranger,  advancing  as  noiselessly  as  his  heavy- 
boots  would  admit,  and  stopping  about  mid- 
way between  the  door  and  the  couch. 

The  squire  turned  himself  towards  the  fig- 
ure, with  something  of  his  old  pride. 

"  Had  I  been  left  to  myself,  I  should  have 
told  you  to  do  your  worst ;  but  "  (here  his  voice 
softened),  "  the  hand  of  God  has  been  laid 
upon  me,  and  I  have  repented  of  my  sin.  It  is 
hardly  likely  that  I  shall  ever  live  to  see  Ed- 
wr.  '  Boyd  again,  even  if  he  were  willing  to 
forgive  my  unkindness,  and  the  cruel  silence 
with   which    I   regarded  his  appeal  to  my  prr- 


tection ;  therefore  I  must  tru^t  my  message  to 
you.     Will  you  carry  it  truly.'  " 

"  Thet  is  what  I'm  here  for,  squire.  I  hev 
no  other  arind,  and  Ned  Boyd  shell  hear  it  to 
the  last  identical  word." 

"Then,  in  the  presence  of  these  witnesses, 
I  resign  willingly  to  Edward  Boyd  all  his 
estate,  leaving  to  him  to  decide  whether  or  not 
my  heirs  shall  receive  the  sum  due  me  as 
guardian,  since  he  attained  his  majority. 
Carry  to  him  my  acknowledgment  of  my  sin, 
and  tell  him  that  a  dying  man  asks  his  for- 
giveness." 

"And  tell  Iiim,"  broke  in  the  sweet  voice 
of  Miss  Amory,  "  that  his  cousin  Laura  begs 
him,  for  the  sake  of  the  old  days  when  they 
were  children  together,  that  he  will  forget  the 
past,  and  be  satisfied  with  regaining  his  prop- 
erty. Don't  advise  him  to  hate  my  poor  fa- 
ther, for  he  has  done  all  that  he  could." 

The  rough  voice  faltered  visibly,  and  the 
herculean  form  seemed  less  erect  and  tri- 
umphant, as  the  last  words  were  spoken. 

"  Ned  Boyd  didn't  expect  this  change  in  the 
old  man ;  and  I  reckon  he  won't  be  over- 
pleased  when  he  finds  thet  he's  taken  the  last 
ore  in  the  lead,  and  come  plum  agin  the 
casin'.  God  bless  you,  miss;  keep  up  your 
spirits,  an'  hope  for  the  best.  Good  night, 
gentlemen;  "  and  the  messenger's  heavy  tread 
died  awjiy  through  the  hall ;  then  the  door 
closed  behind  him,  and  his  horse's  hoof  struck 
the  spark'  from  the  flinty  road  as  the  rough 
rider  dashed  away  at  headlong  speed. 

Three  days  later,  the  mail  brought  to  Mr. 
Amory  another  enclosure  from  the  New  York 
firm.  It  was  a  deed  of  gift  "  of  the  personal 
estate  of  Edward  Boyd,  as  inherited  from  his 
late  father."  The  enjoyment  of  the  interest 
was  deeded  "to  Hiram  Amory,  executor  un- 
der the  will :  "  but  after  his  death,  the  prin- 
cipal went  to  "my  beloved  cousin,  Laura 
.\mory." 

Another  letter  from  Edward  Boyd  conveyed 
a  full  assurance  of  his  forgiveness,  and  gave 
such  a  schedule  of  the  fortune  he  had  amassed, 
that  the  princely  gift  he  had  made  seemed  no 
such  sacrifice,  after  all. 

"  I  shall  visit  Riverport  to-morrow,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  if  you  choose  to  meet  me  at  the 
depot,  I  shall  be  happy  to  end  all  unpleasant- 
ness in  a  family  ;eunion  before  I  return  to 
Nevada." 

The  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude  which  the 
reading  of  that  letter  occasioned  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  witno  ing;  and  when  the  noon 
train  arrived  at  Riverport,  the  family  carriage 
bore  the  squire,  well  supported  with  cushions, 


^ 


-> 


i. 


r\ 


'4 


THE    GREAT    BONANZA. 


to  the  depot.     A  tall,  wcll-drcsscd,  kecn-e^'ed 
man  stepped  forward  to  the  carriage. 

"  Is  this  Edward  Hoyilr "'  asked  the  old  man, 
tremblintjlv. 

The  hrij^ht  eves  t;rew  suspieiously  tiioist  as  i 
the   wanderer   spraiii?   into   the  harouehe   and 
grasped   his   uncle's   hand;  and  an  hour  later  I 
all    Rivorport  knew  that   Ned   Iknil   and  Sam  , 
Nevins  had  come  back  I'rom  the  mines  as  rich 
as  Crccsus  I 

The  next  fortnitjht  was  a  time  long  to  be 
remembered  in  the  Amory  homestead;  and 
among  the  pleasures  of  that  season  of  re- 
joicing,  the   recital   of  the   adventures   of  the 


truant  lads  was  not  the  le.ist.  The  broad 
piazza,  twined  with  climbing  roses  and  wood- 
bine, was  the  auditorium,  and  the  warm  sum- 
mer evei\ings  the  time  devoted  to  the  relation. 
Sam  Nevins,  now  a  wealthy,  self-poised  stock 
operator,  was  alwa^'s  one  of  the  listeners,  and 
the  scpiire  seemed  to  grow  young  again,  us 
the  sad  memories  of  the  past  were  forgotten 
in  the  peaceful  happiness  of  the  hour. 

As  far  as  memory  serves  me,  the  following 
is  a  synopsis  of  a  long  recital  taking  up  sev- 
eral evenings.  In  connection  with  recent  de- 
velopments of  the  vast  mineral  wealth  of  that 
region,  it  is  not  without  interest. 


Takixu 


Book,  hi-;  iilld  iv  lp  to  riiii  soutauv  C.sNDiii.     I'age  y. 


• 

The    broad 

es  and  wood- 

e  warm  siini- 

the  relation. 

THE   F( 

-poised  stock 

istciicrs,  and 

ng  again,   :is 

"  TT  is 
■*■   visi 

ere  forgotten 

lour. 

and  I  coi 

;iie  following 
iking  up  scv- 
th  recent  de- 
•ealth  of  that 


■  ')• 


PART 


THE 
I  I. 


GREAT    BONANZA. 


THE   FOKTUNES    OF   THE   RUNAWAYS. 


hardly  necessary,"  said  Ned,  growing 
bly  red  in  the  face,  "  to  say  why  Sam 
icluded  to  run  away.     I  had  plenty  to 


cat  and  drink,  and  was  well  dressed,  I  suppose  ; 
but  I  felt  that  I  was  not  loved  as  were  the  other 
children.  Sam  had  love  enough,  but  a  lack 
of  food  and  clothing,  which  his  poor  mother 
tried  in  vain  to  supply  in  sullicient  quantities. 
Accordingly  we  resolved,  like  the  other  boys 
we  had  read  of,  '  to  go  forth  to  seek  our  for- 
tunes ; '  and  some  months  before  we  carried  out 
our  project,  we  commenced  our  preparations. 

"  I    had  always  received  many  presents  of 

money,  which  for  the  most  part  had  been  de-     \- -f 

posited   in   that  curious  earthenware  money-  "^ 

box  which  you  all  will  remember.      I  knew  of  1 

several  five-dollar  notes,  which  I  had  carefully 
folded  to  enable  them  to  pass  through  the  nar- 
row slit  in  the  conical  top;  and  many  bits  of 
silver  had  I  hoarded  until  I  could  exchange 
them  for  a  new  dollar  bill  to  add  to  my  stock. 

"  When  father  died,  the  amount  was  consid- 
erable; and  although  my  allowance  was  con- 
siderably reduced  after  that,  I  received,  at  dif- 
ferent times,  presents  which  largely  increased 
the  sum  total. 

"  Sam  and  I  agreed  between  us  that  we  would 
go  to  sea;  but  Sam  refused  to  leave  his  mother 
until  her  year's  supply  of  wood  was  sawed, 
split,  and  piled.  And  many  an  afternoon  we 
worked  together,  laying  our  plans,  and  talking 
of  the  sights  we  should  see,  until  the  spring 
was  nearly  ended,  and  our  task  was  done. 

"The  night  before  Ave  started,  I  took  my 
little  box  into  the  barn,  and  chipped  a  hole  in 
the  bottom.  Sam  was  with  mo,  and  I  poured 
the  contents  into  his  hat.  lie  was  evidently 
amazed  at  the  amount  of  our  capital ;  and  even 
I  was  astonished  at  the  gradual  accumulations 
of  twelve  years  —  for  the  first  bill,  one  of  ten 
dollars,  had  been  deposited  in  it  by  my  mother 
on  my  first  birthday.  We  counted  it  out :  there 
was  in  all  one  liundrcd  and  ten  dollars  and 
fifty-six  cents. 

"  Early  the  next  morning  I  met  Sam  at  the 
wharf,  where  we  took  an  unoccupied  dory,  and 
rowed  down  the  harbor  to  the  cove  where  the 
boat  was  found.  We  hauled  her  up,  as  we 
supposed,  above  the  reach  of  the  tide;  and 
Sam  took  off  his  oldest  suit  and  put  on  one 
of  mine.  We  each  had  a  small  travelling-bag, 
which  I  had  passably  furnished  from  my  own 


*5 

wardrobe  ;  and,  walking  over  to  the  lower  sta- 
tion, we  took  the  early  train  for  New  York. 

"  On  our  arrival  we  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
cab-driver,  who  plainly  told  us  that  he  knew 
we  were  runaways,  and  readily  coaxed  and 
threatened  us  into  boarding  with  him  during 
our  stay  in  the  city.  We  had  each  about  five 
dollars  in  our  pocket-books,  and  carried  the 
rest  of  our  cash  in  bills,  in  the  waistbands  of 
our  trousers,  under  the  lining.  He  maiuiged 
to  keep  us  until  our  visible  cash  was  nearly 
gone,  when  the  fever  attacked  one  of  his  chil- 
dren, and  the  infection  spread  to  nearly  every 
person  in  the  family. 

"  Then  it  was  that  the  rough,  tricky  cabman 
and  his  stout,  hard-working  wife  showed,  be- 
neath the  compelled  selfishness  of  their  ordi- 
nary  life,   a   tireless   patience   and  humanity 


which  I  shall  never  forget.     Thr^.  weeks  they 
took   care  of  us,  and,  hearing  nothing  from 
you,  sent  us  out  to  a  dairy-farm,  where,  for  our 
feeble  aid  in  light  work,  we  got  our  board  until 
we  were  strong  and  well  again. 

"Then  good  John  Traynor  wrote  to  us  that 
he  had  got  us  a  chance  as  waiter-boys  on  a  clip- 
per bound  for  San  Francisco.  So  we  left  the 
farm,  and  returned  to  the  city. 

"  The  captain  liked  our  api)earance,  and  en- 
gaged us  at  once,  at  eight  dollars  a  month. 
As  we  bade  Tmynor  adieu,  I  produced  a  couple 
of  ten-dollar  bills,  and  begged  him  to  take 
them  as  a  ("  irt  of  the  sum  he  had  expended  on 
our  account. 

"  '  Take  it,'  said  I.  '  We  have  enough  to 
pay  our  way,  even  with  a  little  more  expense 
than  we  are  likely  to  meet.  We  will  pay  you 
the  rest  when  we  can.' 

"  The  great  tears  came  into   the  rough  fel- 


T" 


i6 


mmm 


T  1 1  K     GREAT     13  O  N  A  N  Z  A . 


mmmm 


in 


low's  eves.  '  Take  ycr  money  —  is  it?  If  I  do, 
may  I  be —  Tliero,  I  won't  swear  about  it; 
but  my  liands  will  he  woikcd  to  tlie  bone  afore 
I  take  a  cint  more  from  yecs.  We've  a  little 
sum  in  the  Savin's  Bank,  anil  I  'Jon'  know  the 
dhrivcr  in  the  city  as  has  a  bcttl-.er  run  of  cus- 
tom. It's  meself  that  lift  a  f^oocl  home  to  sake 
me  fortune,  and  met  wid  those  that  liadn't  their 
lieart  in  the  bit  and  the  sup  when  a  poor  b'y 
wanted  help.  There,  put  up  your  money;  an' 
whin  ye  come  back  from  Californy,  fetch  me  a 
bit  of  a  lump  of  silver  or  gould,  may  be.' 

"The  next  night  the  swift  'Ranger'  was 
off  Sandy  Hook,  and  ou'-  sea-life  had  fairly 
commenced.  Of  course  we  had  the  usual  ex- 
periences of  green  boys  at  sea.  We  were  mis- 
erably seasick,  and  found  our  miseries  only 
the  subject  of  rough  jests  and  careless  laugh- 
ter. We  were  bullied  by  the  petty  officers, 
and  teased  by  the  seamen,  and  soon  learned 
the  hard  lesson  which  every  one  learns  who 
lives  under  the  absolute  and  irresponsible 
power  of  one  man.  Not  that  Captain  Howard 
■was  a  harsh  or  cruel  ship-master;  for  he  was 
really  a  whole-souled,  generous-hearted  man, 
and,  in  sickness  or  misfortune,  no  one  who 
had  any  claim  upon  his  kindness  had  reason 
to  complain. 

"At  San  Francisco  he  secured  a  charter  to 
Calcutta  and  return  ;  and  we  agreed  to  remain 
on  board  the  Ranger  until  she  got  back  again 
to  San  Francisco.  '  You  chaps  are  pretty 
smart  for  such  little  shavers;  but  you're  only 
fourteen  now,  and  hardly  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  yourselves  yet.  Just  stay  with  me 
another  year,  and  I'll  try  and  get  you  a  berth 
in  some  store  or  other  when  we  get  back.' 

"We  were  easily  persuaded;  and  for  two 
years  we  remained  on  the  Ranger.  But  at  last 
she  was  ordered  back  to  New  York,  and  Cap- 
tain Howard,  after  vainly  endeavoring  to  per- 
suade us  to  go  with  him,  was  as  good  as  his 
Word  in  getting  us  a  situation. 

"  It  was  during  the  early  part  of  the  war, 
and  the  ship  had  been  sold  to  the  government 
for  the  transport  service.  The  captain  was  to 
take  her  to  New  York ;  and  as  there  were  al- 
ready rumors  of  rebel  privateers  in  the  South 
Pacific,  she  was  pierced  for  guns,  and  fur- 
nished with  four  thirty-twos;  a  number  of  gun- 
ners and  extra  men  were  supplied  from  the 
navy-yard  ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  night  be- 
fore she  sailed  that  we  were  summoned  to  the 
cabin  to  be  paid  ofl"  and  discharged. 

"  '  I  am  sorry,  boys,  to  leave  you  here,'  said 
the  captain,  '  for  I've  found  you  honest  and 
reliable ;  an'  I've  tried  to  do  as  well  for  you  as 
a  rough,  uneducated  fellow,  that   has  worked 


his  way  up  from  before  the  mast,  could.  I 
had  a  good  mother  once,  and,  although  you 
wouldn't  think  it,  have  tried  to  keep  you  from 
deviltry,  and  swearin',  and  such  lik",  as  much 
as  I  could.  We're  a  rough  set,  and  the  cabin 
of  a  liner  isn't  the  place  to  learn  much  that  is 
good  ;  but  I'm  afraid  it's  a  deal  better  than  t'le 
only  place  I  can  get  for  you  now. 

"  Sam  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  nmaze- 
ment  not  unmingled  with  alarm.  Could  it  be 
possible  that  we,  who  had  witnessed  so  many 
boisterous,  scurrilous,  blasphemous  sea  cap- 
tains in  their  revels,  were  about  to  assist  at 
orgies  to  which  these  should  be  comparatively 
innocuous,  and  even  preferable.  The  captain 
laughed  a  little;  but  there  was  a  trace  of  sad- 
ness in  his  tone  as  he  continued  :  — 

"  '  I  don't  wonder  you  look  surprised,  boys, 
for  you've  seen  what  we  call  some  "  gay  old 
times  "  in  this  cabin,  and  found  me,  more  than 
once,  as  poor  a  saint  as  I  am  a  preacher.  But 
the  evil  you  saw  then  was  in  the  rough,  and 
disgusted  you,  I've  no  doubt;  and  much  of  the 
bad  language  you  hoard  was  the  result  of  rough 
training  and  ignorance  more  than  of  deep- 
seated  wickedness.  Now  I've  got  vou  a  situa- 
tion something  like  the  one  you've  had  here, 
in  a  club-house,  where  some  of  the  richest  and 
best  educated  men  of  the  city  live  together. 
They  will  teach  you  more  politeness  than  I 
have ;  you  will  wear  finer  clothes,  sleep  softer, 
and  eat  of  the  best  the  market  affords  ;  but  the 
evil  which  you  see  will  be  gilded  by  wealth, 
and  learning,  and  style  ;  and  you  will  find  mean 
and  wicked  thoughts  beneath  the  merchant's 
broadcloth,  which  the  roughest  sea-dog  of  our 
line  would  despise. 

"'However,  I  don't  know  that  I've  any 
right  to  talk  in  this  way.  People  come  here 
to  California  to  get  gold;  and  all  the  passions 
that  fit  m.n  for  hell  seem  to  find  this  a  good 
growing  soil.  Besides,  I'm  something  like 
old  Cap'n  Barnes  when  he  joined  the  church. 
He  was  a  terrible  rough,  profane  old  fellow; 
and  when  he  got  real  mad  it  took  any  amount 
of  grace  to  keep  him  from  swearing.  At  last 
he  ripped  out  one  day  at  a  meeting  about 
church  matters,  when  a  smooth-going  member 
tried  to  play  a  pretty  sharp  game  on  the  so- 
ciety. The  minister,  a  good  old  soul,  rose  and 
called  the  cap'n  to  order,  and  reminded  him 
that  a  Christian  should  be  above  reproach,  and 
quoted  something  about  keeping  himself  "  un- 
spotted from  the  world." 

"  'The  cap'n  got  up  and  said  he  felt  sorry 
for  what  he  had  said,  and  begged  the  pardon 
of  the  members  ;  but  he  had  told  them,  when 
he  joined,  what  his  failing  was,  and  that  he 


i 


%« 


-4 


i. 


. 


PWPMP 


In 


nast,  could.  I 
,  although  you 
keep  you  from 

I  lil'-,  as  much 
and  the  cabin 
n  mucli  that  is 
better  than  t'.e 

V. 

thcr  in  nmaze- 
1.  Could  it  be 
;ssed  so  many 
mous  sea  cap- 
ut to  assist  at 
comparatively 
.  The  captain 
\  trace  of  sad- 

irprised,  boys, 
iome  "  gay  old 
me,  more  than 
Treacher.  But 
he  rough,  and 
id  much  of  the 
result  of  rough 
than  of  deep- 
ot  you  a  situa- 
u've  had  here, 
•he  richest  and 
live  together, 
iteness  than  I 
s,  sleep  softer, 
fords ;  but  the 
led  by  wealth, 
will  find  mean 
he  merchant's 
sea-dog  of  our 

that  I've  any 
;)le  come  here 

II  the  passions 
d  this  a  good 
tmething  like 
d  the  church, 
le  old  fellow; 
k  any  amount 
ring.  At  last 
neeting  about 
going  member 
le  on   the  so- 

soul,  rose  and 
reminded  him 

reproach,  and 
■  himself  "  un- 

he  felt  sorry 
:d  tlie  pardon 
d  them,  when 
,  and  that  he 


Jr 


THE     GRi:.\T     HONA.N'ZA. 


c> 


■4 


X 


was  afraid  he  should  bring  scandal  on  the 
church.  "But,  said  he,  "our  minister  tells 
us  that  we  are  to  be  soldiers,  fightin'  the  good 
fight  against  the  devil  an'  all  his  angels.  Wal, 
oiuc  I  knew  a  man  who  told  me  of  u  terrible 
fight  with  liijins,  in  which  all  the  party  was 
killctl  but  him.  They  was  all  round  him,  but 
siiigli>handed  an' alone  he  fought  through  the 
crowd  and  got  clear  at  last.  One  day  this  feller 
went  in  swimming,  ttiic/  /lis  skin  httdii't  a  scar- 
on  it.  I  set  th.at  man  down  as  not  much  of  a 
fighter  any  way.  An' I  think  thet  the  ClA-is- 
tian  thet  lies  no  failin's  can't  have  felt  much" 
of  the  power  of  the  temptations  and  wicked- 
ness of  the  world." 

"  '  So,  boys,'  continued  our  worthy  Mentor, 
'  perhaps  it's  just  as  well  that  you  should  see 
the  other  side  of  the  card.  Jf  you  determine 
to  be  honest  and  tnanlv,  you'll  come  out  all 
right.  But  don't  let  the  weakness  and  mean- 
ness of  any  one  destroy  your  faith  in  the  good- 
ness of  God  and  the  kindness  and  generosity 
of  mankind.  Well,  you've  had  my  lecture, 
and  here  is  the  balance  of  your  wages ;  '  and 
after  paying  us  off,  our  old  .""riend  took  us 
up  to  the  buildings  occupied  by  the  Occi- 
dental Club,  and  presented  us  to  our  new  em- 
ployer. 

"  Gerald  Rushton,  or,  to  use  his  popular 
cognomen.  Col  Rushton,  was  a  middle-aged 
gentleman,  with  an  air  half  military,  half  gen- 
teel, a  portly  body,  and  a  sallow,  flabby  face, 
half  covered  with  a  huge  mustache,  and  with 
a  pair  of  large  black  eyes  surrounded  by  those 
heavy,  leaden-hued  circles  which  tell  of  vita!- 
it3'  wasted  '  y  unnaturally  late  hours  and  a  life 
of  dissipation.  Perfectly  polite  in  every  word 
and  action  to  all  the  frequenters  of  the  club, 
never  excited  to  pa«sion  or  awakened  to  en- 
thusiasm, he  was  a  perfect  master  of  a  situation 
where  the  main  points  were  to  provide  well  for 
the  animal  comfort"!  of  the  inmates,  and  to 
keep  carefully  from  the  outer  world  the  hidden 
life  of  his  customers.  He  received  us  coldly, 
and  summoned  the  head  waiter,  who  furnished 
us  with  the  ui.Iform  costmne  worn  by  the  em- 
ployees of  the  establishment,  and  assigned  us 
to  different  stations. 

"  Of  the  two  years  we  spent  there  I  care 
to  say  little,  for  much  of  what  I  heard  is  unfit 
to  be  repeated  here,  and  the  scenes  which  I 
witnessed  in  the  luxurious  parlors  and  around 
the  card-tables  of  the  club  will  never  fade  from 
memory  while  I  live.  True  there  were  but  few 
occasions  when  the  men  who  were  beggared 
in  those  stately  rooms  sought  relief  in  self- 
murder,  or  avenged  their  betrayal  to  ruin  by 
violence ;  and  the  few  exceptional  cases  were 


smoothed  over  by  the  inlUience  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  club,  and  the  tact  and  self-possessed 
coolness  of  '  the  colonel.' 

"  We  were,  from  the  first,  favorites  with  our 
superior,  for  our  life  on  shijiboard,  and  our 
hardened  constitutions,  enabled  us  to  do  the 
'  night-work'  of  the  institution  with  compara- 
tively little  exhaustion  from  want  of  sleep. 
Much  of  our  work  was  in  attendance  on  the 
card-players,  who  seldom  rose  from  their  fas- 
cinating occupation  until  two  or  three  in  the 
morning.  There  I  saw  enough  to  convince 
me  that  Rushton  was  not  the  uninterested 
spectator  that  he  seemed;  and  at  last  I  found 
that  his  earnings  as  superintendent  were  but 
an  unimportant  part  of  the  wealth  he  drew 
from  an  organized  system  of  wholesale  spoli- 
iltion.      His   victims  were  for  the    most  part 


young  men,  who  never  dreamed  that  the  men 
whom  they  honored  as  leaders  in  politics,  law, 
and  trade  could  lend  themselves  to  aught  more 
debasing  than  high  play  at  cards ;  or  if  they 
did  suspect  the  truth,  it  was  impossible  to  ver- 
ify their  suspicions. 

"  At  last,  one  day,  as  I  loitered  by  the  side 
of  the  Pacific  Mail  steamer,  which  was  just  on 
the  point  of  starting,  I  saw  a  tall,  fine-looking 
man  bidding  adieu  to  a  youth  whom  I  had 
already  noted  as  a  fresh  victim  of  the  colonel's 
wiles. 

"  '  Good  by,  Henry,'  said  the  father.  '  Don't 
stay  here  any  longer  than  you  can  help,  but 
be  off  to  Washoe  at  your  earliest  opportunity. 
.Schaeffer  and  Scales  need  the  money,  and  we 
want  you  at  home  with  tlu?  old  folks  a<  soon 
as  possible.     Give  my  kind  regards  to  Rush- 


.*     w 


iS 


THE     GREAT     11  O  N  A  N  Z  A  . 


ton.    I  sullpo^c  you  will  stav  at  the  Occidental 
a  week  longer.' 

"'Yes,  father,'  said  the  vnuni;  man;  'I 
want  to  {live  a  lortniiilit  to  seeini;  San  Fran- 
cisco; besides,  Rushton  has  yiven  me  intro- 
ductions to  so  maiiv  men  of  considerable  note, 
that  I  feel  like  pursuini,'  the  aciiuaintance  far- 
ther." 

"'Well,  Henry,  do  as  you  think  best;  but 
don't  fail  to  set  out  in  a  week  at  farthest." 

"At  this  juncture  the  bell  ran;;,  and  with 
the  usual  hustle,  din,  and  hurry,  the  steamship 
left  the  wharf,  and  the  younj^  man  watched  the 
sto\it  vessel  until,  on  the  swift  current  of  the 
relluent  tide,  she  slipped  through  the  rocky 
portals  o(  the  Golden  Gate. 

"There  was  something  in  the  stately  ten- 
derness of  the  father,  and  the  manly  affection 
of  the  son,  which  awakened  me  to  a  sense  of 
mv  duty  in  the  premises.  I  looked  around 
for  the  stranger.  The  ship  had  rounded  the 
headland,  and  with  an  audible  sigh  the  young 
man  turned  his  face  towards  his  new  home. 

"' I  believe  you  arc  stopping  at  the  Occi- 
dental," said  I. 

"  '  Yes,  sir;  I  came  there  three  nights  ago. 
You  are  employed  there  —  arc  you  not.'' 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  said  I ;  '  I  am  at  present  one  of 
the  attendants  in  the  card-room." 

'•  '  I  thought  I  remembered  your  face.  What 
can  I  do  for  you,  my  lad  .' "  j 

"  •  Nothing,  sir.  It  was  in  the  hope  of  do- 
ing vou  a  service  that  I  took  the  liberty  of  ad- 
dressing you.  I  wish  to  give  you  a  warning." 
"'A  warning!  Why,  you  are  becoming 
quite  mysteriously  interesting.  But,  pardon 
me,  sir,  what  have  I  to  fear.'" 

"  '  Nothing  but  the  loss  of  your  money  ;  but 
that,  I  fancy,  would  be  serious  enough  in  its 
consequences." 

"  'The  deuce  I   ves,  T  shoidd  think  so.     But 
how  am  I  likely  to  lose  it.  my  dear  sir.'" 
"  '  At  the  card  tables  of  the  Occidental." 
"  The  young  man  started. 
"  '  Impossible.      I  know  no  one  there  except 
men  too  high  in  position  to  become  gamblers, 
and  of  characters  too  well-established  to  be  af- 
fected by  anything  which  you  or  I  could  say." 
"  'You  are  right;   and  I   shall   say  nothing. 
But  I.  perhaps,  may  be  allowed  to  remind  you 
c:f  the  leading  events  of  last  evening.'' 
"The  voung  man  bowed  his  acquiescence. 
"  '  You  came  in  with  Colonel   Rushton  and 
Mr.  A.,  who  introduced  you  to  Senator  D.  and 
Lawver  Y.     You  sat  down  to  a  game  of  whist, 
at  half-dollar  points.     Before  you  went  to  bed 
at  two,  the  game   had   been  changed  to  draw 
poker,  and  you  had  lost  heavily.' 


"  '  You  have  used  your  eyes  well,  I  must  ad- 
mit. But  such  a  succession  of  events  might 
have  been  the  legitimate  result  of  a  fairly- 
]ilaved  game.  I  see  no  reason,  however,  which 
shfiuld  lead  you  to  deceive  me;  and  I  will  be 
on  my  guard.' 

"  '  Let  me  give  you  one  piece  of  advice,  sir,' 
said  I  :  '  never  bet  on  any  hand,  however  large, 
unless  you  have  dealt  the  carite  yourself;  or, 
if  vou  must  bet,  wait,  and  "  call  "  as  soon  as 
vou  can.  You  will  soon  sec  that,  however 
good  a  hand  you  may  hold,  a  better  will  be  in 
the  hands  of  one  of  your  companions.  I  have 
seen  the  results  of  a  difTerent  course  too  often 
to  have  any  doubts  of  your  ruin  if  you  despise 
my  advice.' 

"  '  I  do  not  despise  it,  sir,  and  will  test  it 
to-night.  If  you  prove  right,  I  shall  not  be 
ungrateful.     Will  you  give  me  your  name.'' 

"  '  Mv  iiume  is  Edward  Boyd,  and  I  shall  be 
on  duty  at  the  card  room  to-night.  You  will 
be  invited  to  play  again  this  evening,  youniay 
be  sure.  We  must  part  here.  Don't  recognize 
me  at  the  house,  sir.' 

"That  evening,  as  I  went  up  stairs  to  the 
parlor  devoted  to  card-playing,  I  passed  t'ne 
voung  man,  whose  name  I  learned  during  the 
(lav  was  Henry  Hunter.  'The  senator.'  as 
his  companion  was  generally  styled,  was  dis- 
plaving  his  really  brilliant  powers  of  conver- 
sation, and  had  evidently  charmed  tlie  young 
man  bv  the  bland  richness  of  his  voice  and  his 
vast  fund  of  general  information.  At  that 
moment  the  lawyer  and  Mr.  A.  met  them. 

"  '  Shall  we  finish  that  little  game  to-night.'' 
said  the  latter.  '  Y.  leaves  for  Sacramento 
to-morrow  morning,  and  I  suppose  Hunter 
will  be  on  his  way  to  Washoe  before  his  re- 
turn.' 

"  '  Mv  young  frien  '  and  I  have  been  having 
such  a  charming  conversation  that  I  hardly 
care  to  sit  down  in  that  close  room  with  so 
inany  players.  Let  me  play  the  host  to-night, 
gentlemen. —  Mr.  Rushton,' said  the  senator, 
raising  his  voice,  '  send  up  some  refreshments 
to  my  room  :  we  are  going  to  sit  there  this 
evening;  and  if  you  feel  like  dropping  in 
upon  us,  don't  use  any  ceremony,  I  beg  of 
you.' 

"I  caught  Hunter's  eye.  He  started,  but 
instantly  recovered  his  usual  politeness  and 
easy  confidence;  and  the  party  went  up  to  the 
luxurious  rooms  of  the  senator.  At  about 
midnight  A.  and  Y.  entered  the  card  room 
perfectly  furious. 

"'Did  you    ever  see   such   luck.'"   said  the 
former.     '  He   has  won   back  all   that  he   lost 
1  last  night,  and  bet  as  if  he  suspected.' 


M 


THE    GREAT    BONANZA. 


'9 


II,  I  imi'-t  ad- 
vents might 
of  a  fairly- 
kvcvcr,  which 
iiul   I  will  be 

f  advice,  sir,' 
)\VL'vcr  large, 
yourself;  or, 
"  as  soon  as 
lat,  however 
tor  will  he  in 
ions.  I  have 
irse  too  often 
f  you  despise 

d  will  test  it 
shall  not  he 
)iir  name .' ' 
tnd  I  shall  he 
it.  You  will 
in<^,  youniay 
)n't  recognize 

stairs  to  the 
I  passed  t'ne 
lhI  during  the 
■  senator.'  as 
I'led,  was  dis- 
rs  of  conver- 
.'d  the  young 
voice  and  his 
;)n.  At  that 
net  them, 
me  to-night.'' 
r  Sacramento 
ipose  Hunter 
jefore  his  re- 

,'  been  having 
that  I  hardly 
room  with  so 
host  to-night, 
;1  the  senator, 
:  refreshments 
sit  there  this 
dropping  in 
my,  I   beg  of 

e  started,  but 
)oliteness  and 
vent  up  to  the 
>r.  At  about 
he  card  room 

ick  ^ '  said  the 
1  that  he  lost 
ected.' 


••  '  Hush  I  '  interposed  his  more  cautious  le- 
gal companion.  '  I'll  lay  my  life  that  he  does 
suspect:  and  the  less  said  the  better.  But 
Rushtoii  will  take  my  place  to-night,  anil  —  ' 
'J"he  rest  of  the  interesting  conversation  was 
inaudible. 

"The  next  morning  Mr.  Hunter  beckoneil 
to  me  as  I  passed  through  the  smoking-room. 

"' You  were  right,' said  he,  in  a  low  tone. 
'  Can  I  see  you  anywhere  alone  by  and  bv.'' 

"'I  am  oil' duty  at  two.  and  sliall  t:'.ke  a 
stroll  on  tlic  wharf.  If  you  choose,  I  can 
meet  you  there ; '  and  I  jiassed  on  to  finish  my 
errand. 

'•At  the  hour  aiijiointed  I  met  Mr.  Hunter. 
He  acknowledged  my  timely  services,  am!  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  going  to  Nevada  the 
next  day. 

"  '  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  here,  for  this  is 
no  place  for  a  hoy  like  you.  I  wish  I  could 
take  you  with  me.' 

"  The  cliance  I  had  long  desired  had  at  Irjst 
presented  itself. 

"  '  I  wish  you  would  take  me  with  vou.  I 
can  work  hard,  ami  have  wanted  to  go  to  the 
mines  a  long  time.  Have  you  no  work  for  us 
to  do?  for  1  can't  leave  .Sam.' 

'•  'Tlien  you  have  a  friend.''  said  he,  laugh- 
ing.    '  You  have  never  told  me  about  Sam.' 

Then  I  related  our  little  history;  and  when 
he  again  spoke,  the  laugh  had  disappeared  from 
his  tone,  and  his  soft  black  eyes  were  full  of 
almost  womanly  tenderness. 

"  '  You  shall  both  go  with  me  ;  that  is,  if  you 
can  leave  to-morrow,  and  are  willing  to  trv 
the  rough  and  weary  labor  of  a  miner's  life.' 

"  'We  were  jKiid  olT  two  days  ago,'  said  I  ; 
'and  .Sam  has  long  been  m-ging  me  to  leave 
the  service,  for  the  night-work  has  already  be- 
gim  to  tell  upon  us.' 

"The  next  day,  at  four  I'.  M..  Mr.  Hunter. 
Sam,  and  my'lf  were  on  board  a  steamer 
bound  up  the  .Sacramento  Rivtr,  eu  route  for 
Washoe.  At  acramento  we  took  the  train 
for  Folsom,  where  stages  awaited  our  arrival, 
to  convey  us  over  the  Sierra  Nevada  to  \'ir- 
ginia  City. 

"  Of  that  long  night-ritle  I  have  many  and 
varied  memories.  The  first  score  of  miles  led 
us  over  a  terribly  cut-up  road,  from  which  vol- 
mnes  of  dust  arose,  choking  the  lungs,  and 
hiding  the  deep  dry  ruts  which  threatened  at 
every  moment  to  upset  the  ponderous  stage. 
But  about  an  hour  after  leaving  Placorville. 
where  we  stopped  for  supper,  the  roadwav  be- 
came a  hard  gravel ;  and,  as  the  shadows  deep- 
ened, we  sped  through  the  winding  approaches 
which  lead  through  threatening  walls  of  cter- 


the  narrow  trestle-bridges  which  span  the  swift 
American  and  its  granite-walled  tributaries. 
The  night  was  one  of  those  clear,  star-lit  ones 
which  give  to  every  clilV  and  I'orest  a  blackness 
wliiih  only  served  to  throw  into  more  startling 
distinctness  the  skeleton  of  some  blasted  tree, 
or  the  vast  detached  l;ouldcrs  which  lie  scat- 
tered above  the  winding  road  which  leads  up 
to  the  summit. 

"  Strewn  over  the  mountain-sides,  as  if  flung 
by  those  Titanic  warriors  who  essayed  their 
mighty  prowess  in  vain  against  the  Iiosts  of 
heaven,  many  rested  upon  a  base  so  narrow, 
and  apparently  insulVicient,  that  more  than 
once,  as  I  awoke  with  a  start  from  a  momen- 
tary doze,  I  repressed  with  ililliculty  a  cry  of 
alarm,  as  at  some  sudden  turn  a  huge  fragment 
seemed  about  to  crush  us  in  irresistible  descent. 

"At  three  A.  >r.  we  reached  the  simimit, 
and  saw  afar  off  on  the  horizon  the  pearl  v 
flush  that  men  call  'the  false  dawn.'  The  air 
was  chill,  almost  frosty,  for  we  were  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

"The  next  six  miles  was  a  headlong  rush 
downward  along  '  the  new  grade.'  a  shelving 
road,  winding  along  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
without  post  or  rail  between  the  road-way  and 
the  abyss  whose  rocky  bottom  lies  hundreds 
of  feet  below.  The  sun  rose  as  we  passed  be- 
neath the  lofty  cUIV  where  the  pine-crowned 
I'oint-of-Rocks  overlooks  the  linij'.id  waters 
of  Lake  Tahoe,  and  after  crossing  'The  Di- 
vide '  beyond  the  Glenbrook  Station,  we  passed 
through  Carson  Silver  City  and  Gold  Hill, 
and  entered  the  devious  streets  of  Virginia 
City  thirty-eight  hours  out  from  .San  Fran- 
cisco. 

'■  For  the  last  few  miles  all  traces  of  natural 
licauty  had  been  lost  in  the  unceasing  strug- 
gle which  for  five  years  past  had  been  waged 
between  human  skill,  with  its  armies  of  la- 
borers, and  wealth  of  scientific  ajipliances,  and 
powerful  engines,  and  the  grim  walls  and  ledges 
of  inetamorphic  rock,  which  for  ages  had 
faithfully  guarded  the  treasures  of  the  moun- 
tains. 

"  fiangs  of  miners  covered  with  mud,  or 
white  with  dust,  issued  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  or  disappeared  into  rocky  fissures  like 
the  gnomes  of  German  story.  The  air  was 
full  of  penetrating  rock-dust  and  the  poison- 
ous vapors  of  the  snielting-furnaces.  Tall 
pillars  of  iron  boie  up  the  vast  pulleys  of  the 
hoisting  apparatus,  which  at  once  carried  the 
miner  down  to  his  task  a  thousand  feet  below, 
and  raised  'to  the  bank'  huge  buckets  of 
gray  ore  worth  a  king's  ransom  ;  and  the  way 


20 


iiii:    (iRi:AT   noswAx. 


was  almost  cliokoii  witli  wa'^ons  ami  vcliiilos 
boariiiLf  now  inai'liiiierv,  fooil.aiul  floods  ol'all 
kiiuls  to  llio  Illinois"  citv. 

"  Wo  WL'io  woll  ivcoivt'il  l)v  Messrs.  Stliai'f- 
foraiul  Soali's.  two  lonMLCii  ijcntloiiion,  of  lart^c 
iiii!iint{cNpt.Ticiuc',  who,  villi  the  uUlc-.'  Hunter, 
owned  a  large  interest  in  one  of  the  prineipal 
mines.  Ilem-y  Hunter  was  to  l)o  the  head 
book-keeiier  of  the  eoncern.and  at  onee  stated 
his  wishes  eoneerniiii;  us  to  tlie  niana^irs. 

"  SehactVer,  a  nervous  hlack-lieariled  (ier- 
inan  from  tlie  Ilartz  Mountains,  auswereti,  in 
his  t|ui(k,  kind  way,  — 

'"  Certainlee,deysliall  liave  a  sitnrHion  ;  I)ut 
dcre  is  just  now  no  place,  eMept  dey  sail  work 
in  de  mine,  or  wateh  de  works  of  reiliieti-on.' 

"  '  Vou  won't  find  the  first  so  pleasant  as 
^our  duties  at  Frisco,  I'm  afraid,'  said  Scales, 
a  blulV  Knglishman,  who  had  served  a  long 
apprenticeship  in  the  mines  of  I'otosi.  '  lUit 
there's  a  better  chance  for  you  to  learn  there 
what  may  yet  make  both  your  fortunes.' 

''  We  both  decided  to  work  in  the  mine ;  and 
Scales  promised  us  eighty  dollars  a  month  and 
our  board. 

"'It  is  not  commonly  done ;  but  we  owe 
you  a  debt,  and  you  and  your  friend  shall  live 
with  Us  as  long  as  you  st.ay  in  Virginia  City.' 

"  We  accordingly  gladly  accepted  the  offer, 
and  the  next  day  went  down  the  shaft  with 
Schacffer,  who  called  our  attention,  here  and 
there,  to  the  rocks  which,  dripping  witli  con- 
densed moisture,  and  frosty  with  gathered  dust, 
still  showed  here  and  there  a  glimmer  of  white 
or  rosy  quartz,  a  glint  of  semi-transparent  or 
snowy  spar,  or  the  grayish-red  surface  of  frac- 
tured hornblende. 

"  '  I  do  suppose,'  said  our  voluble  guide,  as 
we  rapidly  descended  into  the  apparently  bot- 
toml(»s  abyss,  '  that  you  sail  be  dis-apointetl 
that  you  see  no  silfer.  But  you  sail  seldom 
see  silfer,  as  dey  do  find  gold  antl  copper,  in 
threads  through  de  solid  rock.  Now,  dere.'he 
said,  as  we  shot  by  a  narrow  opening,  evidently 
a  cross-gallery,  '  dat  was  our  best  ore,  and  we 
did  get  seven  hundret  dollar  a  ton  from  some 
of  it;  and  yet  you  would  not  pick  up  a  itiece 
of  it  on  de  street,  unless  to  trow  at  a  dog.' 

"  '  And  do  you  never  find  silver  in  visible 
quantities.''  asked  Sam. 

"  '  O,  yes;  in  Norway,  at  Konigsberg,  dey 
did  find  one  inass  of  silfer  as  long  and  as  big 
as  a  mans,  and  dat  weighed  nearh'  five  hun- 
dret pounds.  Den  in  Mexico  and  Peru  dey  do 
often  find  pure  metal  in  large  pieces.  But  we 
do  never  do  so  here.  Dere  has  been,  however, 
in  some  mines,  large  pockets  of  what  we  do 
call  de  horn  silfer,  or  what  de  chemists  do  call 


de  "  iiatif  chloride  of  silfer."  |)is  is  often 
three  ipiarter  parts  rii  li  in  i>imv  metal,  and,' 
lowering  his  voice,  '  I  has  sometimes  found  a 
very  leetle  in  dis  mine.' 

"  At  last  we  reached  the  lowest  level,  a  thou- 
sand feet  below  the  surt'ace,  and  were  set  at 
work  by  an  o>  erseer,  to  whom  we  weie  cspi  - 
cially  recommeiuled  by  the  kind-hearted  (ier- 
nian  ;  and  in  a  few  days  we  hail  settled  ilown 
to  the  monotonous  drudgery  of  silver  mining. 

"  For  two  years  we  worked  thus;  aiul  Sam 
became  especially  skill'ul  as  a  miner,  and  his 
judgment  in  the  matter  of  oie  became  won- 
ilerl'ul.  There  was  not  a  shaft,  level,  cross- 
cut, or  win/e  in  the  district  of  which  he  ilid 
not  carry  in  his  head  a  complete  mining-chart ; 
and  at  last  he  was  always  taken  into  council 
when  a  new  mode  of  api)roach  was  proposed; 
and  his  pay  had  been  proportionally  ad- 
vanced. 

'■  As  for  me,  my  health  could  not  stand  the 
hard  labor  so  well,  and  under  Mr.  Scliaefl''er's 
direction  I  became  quite  an  expert  in  the  rv- 
d'u-ing  process,  by  which  the  metal  is  sepa- 
rated from  the  rock,  ami  the  copjier,  sulphur, 
arsenic,  lead,  and  other  substai»ces,  with  ono 
or  all  of  which  it  is  nearly  always  associated. 

"In  1S65  nearly  all  our  works  were  founded 
on  the  Mexican  amalgamation  process,  said  to 
have  been  invented,  in  1557,  by  a  certain  miner 
of  Pachuca,  named  Bartholomew  de  Medina, 
although  SchaelVer  used  to  assert  '  dat  my 
countrvnicn  of  de  Suabian  mines  did  practise 
dat  long  ago.'  As  carried  on  in  Mexico,  the 
ore  is  reduced  to  jiowder  by  stamps,  and  then 
transt'erred  to  the  rudii  crushing  mills,  or  ar- 
i<i.<tr<ts,  as  they  are  called,  where  stones,  re- 
volved by  mule  power  around  a  stone-paved 
trough  filled  with  water,  reduces  the  ore  to  the 
finest  of  dust.  It  is  then,  in  the  state  of  nuul, 
placed  in  the  amalgamating  yard,  which  is 
also  lloored  with  stone,  and,  with  the  addition 
of  from  four  to  twenty  per  cent,  of  salt,  is 
made  into  large  heaps.  When  iron  pyrites, 
or  crude  sulphate  of  iron,  is  not  n.iturally 
present,  quantities  of  this  are  added,  with 
roasted  copper  jiyrites,  or  sulphate  of  co))i)er, 
besides  lime  and  decaying  vegetable  matter. 

"  These  materials  are  didy  mixed  by  the 
trampling  feet  of  many  horses  or  mules,  and 
about  six  times  as  much  mercury  as  the  esti- 
mated weight  of  silver  present  is  sifted  throngh 
stout  canvas  pockets,  and  intimately  mingled 
with  the  heap.  The  process,  depending  on 
natural  heat  and  a  slow  chemical  action,  takes 
about  five  months,  and  the  loss  of  mercury 
and  waste  of  ore  is  very  great. 

"  Our  stamps  '     re  of  steel,  six  in   number, 


i 


i. 


M 


1 


DU  is  ollcii 
'  iiK'tnl,  anil,' 
\MWs   lumul  a 

Icvi'l,  a  l!u)u- 
i  wi-ii-  Mt  at 
vc  wcvc  I'spi  - 
■liouikil  (icr- 
sLttkil  clown 
ilvcr  inininL,'. 
is;  anil  Sam 
inur,  and  liis 
became  won- 

Il'voI,  iross- 
.vliiili  lie  iliil 
liiiiiig-iliart ; 

into  council 
as  proposed ; 
rtionally    ad- 

lot  stand  the 
r.  Scliat'ftei's 
rt  in  the  ij- 
letal  is  se))a- 
pcr,  sulphur, 
:es,  with  one 
s  associated. 
were  founded 
ocess,  said  to 
certain  miner 
,-  de  Medina, 
ert  '  dat  my 
1  did  practise 

Mexico,  the 
ips,  and  then 

mills,  or  a/-- 
e  stones,  re- 
.  stone-paved 
the  ore  to  the 
state  of  mud, 
rd,  which  is 
1  the  addition 
t.   of  salt,   is 

iron  p_v rites, 
lot    n.iturally 

added,  with 
ite  of  copjier, 
hie  matter. 
nixed  hy  the 
r  mules,  ami 
y  as  the  est!- 
ifted  thr()iii;h. 
itely  mingled 
lepending   on 

action,  takes 
s   of  mercury 

;  in   number, 


Tin;   (;ri:at   iion.wza. 


1 


driven  by  a  powerful  steam  eni,'ine.  Kacli 
weiiihed  nearly  eijilit  liuiidivd  pounds,  and 
kept  up  a  ceaseless  ponilerous  dance  in  an  iron 
box,  called  a  battery,  into  which  trickliil  a  iiii- 
nulc  stream  of  water,  which  >wcpt  the  finest 
of  the  ,t,'ray  mud  throu^^h  a  thin  wire  screen 
into  the  amaluamalini;  pans  —  L,'reat  'jacket- 
ed '  tubs  of  metal  kept  hot  with  super-heated 
steam.  In  these  constantly  revolved  liuj,'e 
miillers,  which  intimately  mixed  the  pasty  ore 
with  the  mercury  which  was  fietpiently  sifted 
into  the  pans,  and  sei/.eil  every  particle  of  pu- 
rified i^okl  and  silver.  .Salt  and  sulphate  of 
copper  were  used  to  destro-  'I'o  ailmixture  ol 
baser  metals,  iiud  the  constant  llow  of  turbid 
water  which  ran  from  the  pans  was  carrieil  off 
in  broad  wooden  trouL;lis.  called  '  sluices.'  lined 
with  coarse  woolly  blankets,  and  obstructed 
with  '  ritlles,'  or  small  horizontal  trouijhs  filled 
with  quicksilver,  to  arrest  the  minute  particles 
of  silver,  which  would  otherwise  have  been 
lost  to  a  large  amount. 

"  Every  week  the  workmen  at  the  mill 
'  cleaned  up.'  Clearinvf  the  crisp,  heavily-laden 
quicksilver  from  the  pasty  mud  which  it  bad 
robbed  of  its  treasures,  they  made  it  up  into 
lari;e  halls,  which  were  afterwards  placeil  in  a 
retort,  whose  heat  soon  dissipated  the  mercury 
in  vapor,  leavim;  cliiiid  only  a  compact  lump 
of  frosty,  f,'listenini{,  spongy  gold  and  silver. 
Of  course  care  was  taken  not  to  lose  the  cpiick- 
silver,  which  was  saved  by  cooling  it  in  a  con- 
denser, and  galliering  it  in  a  reservoir  of 
water. 

•'In  1S70  I  bad  worked  five  years  at  silver 
mining.  Hunter  was  now  the  agent  of  the 
company  in  his  native  city.  Scales  had  dab- 
bled in  stocks  in  other  iiiines,  'struck  it  rich,' 
and  gone  'home'  to  Fngland.  .Sam  was  in 
his  place,  and  I  had  taken  Hunter's,  while 
Schaelfer  still  stuck  manfully  to  the  task- of 
making  the  '  Consolidated'  pay. 

"  The  outlook  was  jjoor,  for  our  expenses 
were  enormous,  and  heavy  divideiuls.  paid  in 
periods  of  transitory  success,  had  reduced  the 
resources  of  the  mine  at  a  critical  period. 

"  One  night  SchaelVer  came  home  to  our 
'  bachelor's  hall '  in  despair. 

"  '  Everyting  goes  against  us.  De  ore  in 
de  fourteen  hundred  foot  drift  gets  worse  and 
worse,  and  seems  to  pay  less  than  reducing 
rates.' 

"To  understand  what  follows,  you  will  re- 
member that  we  were  working  for  a  vast  cor- 
poration, comprising  thousands  of  stockhold- 
ers, holding  shares  who;:  '  nominal  value  was 
one  hundred  dollars  apiece.  The  owners, 
managers,  and  even  the  workmen,  had  a  right 


to  buy  stock  ;  and  for  some  years  Schaelfer 
had  invested  the  most  of  his  earnings  in  the 
stock  of  the  company,  which  was  now  at  about 
eight  dollars  per  '  foot.' 

"  I  trieil  to  cheer  him  ii]> ;  but  he  seemed  to 
have  given  up  all  hope,  lor  the  ahaiiiloiiment 
of  the  minewouhl  lea\e  him  almost  penniless. 
Suddi'iily  we  heard  a  rush  of  men  outside,  and 
a  call  for  the  supcrinteiuUnt  :  and  a  si'coiul 
later  a  m;iii  rushed  in  sobbing  as  il'  his  heart 
would  break. 

'■•  What's  the  niatli'r,  Jack.''s;iid  I;  'any- 
thing wrong  at  the  mine.'' 

"  '  Matter  enough  I  '  saiil  the  fellow,  a  rough 
miner,  who  had  been  .Sam's  favorite  workman, 
tiKiugh  no  one  else  cared  to  have  anything  to 
ilo  with  him.  '  The  cross-drift  from  the  new 
wiii/e  '  (a  narrow  shall  not  a  part  of  the  main 
shaft)  ■  has  caved  in,  and  .Sam  Nevins  is 
killed!' 

"  '  Mein  (iotti  Was  nnglnck  is  das.''  cried 
the  (ieniian,  awakened  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  own  misfortunes.  'Here,  Jack, 
how  did  it  haiipcn  .'  Tell  it  to  me  (piick.  Per- 
haps dere  is  yet  a  hope.' 

"  '  I'm  afraid  it's  all  up  with  poor  Sam.  I  low- 
e\er,  I'll  soon  tell  you  all  that  I  know.  \'ou 
see,  Sam  set  Johnson  and  I  to  sink  this  wiii/e, 
an'  one  ilay  he  came  down,  an'  after  fakin'  a 
look  at  the  rock,  he  said,  "Jack,  cut  a  drift 
tliar."  Wal,  we  ran  in  about  twenty  feet,  an' 
pillareil  it  up,  for  tliar  was  a  bangin"  wall,  ami 
things  wasn't  over  safe.  To-day  Sam  come 
down  an'  found  Johnson  coming  out.  "' Wliar 
ye  goin',  Johnson.'"  said  he.  "  Out  o'  this," 
ses  Johnson  :  "them  posts  are  cracking  like 
all  possessed,  an'  I  just  got  a  jielt  of  a  stone 
from  overhead."  "All  right,"  says  Sam.  "I'll 
goin  for  a  moment;  "and  then  he  come  in 
with  Johnson's  can'le  and  pick. 

"  '  Wal,  I'd  been  at  work  along  the  bangin' 
wall,  and  h-t-d  made  a  little  hole  to  the  south- 
'ard,  jist  about  large  enough  to  sit  upan'\»oik 
in.  He  just  gin  a  look  at  the  bangin' wall, 
an'  got  into  the  little  cove,  when  I  heard  him 
say  something.  I  stooped  to  listen,  when 
about  a  bushel  of  fragments  tlroppetl  on  my 
back,  an'  I  heard  the  posts  rippin'  an'  crackin' 
all  round  me.  All  I  remember  is,  dodgin'  an' 
twistin'  among  them  props,  and  reachin'  the 
winze  just  in  time  to  be  hauleil  up  byjolinson 
before  the  hull  cross-drift  caved  in.' 

"  '  Come  on,  men  !  '  said  Schaeffer,  seizing 
1  his  hat:  and  following  his  example,  we  rushed 
to  the  mine,  and  desceiuled  to  the  level  from 
whence  the  exploring  shaft  had  been  sunk. 

"  It  was  now  filled  up,  the  earth  and  rock 
having  fallen   away  from    the   receding  wall, 


aa 


Till".     (JKKAT    nONANZA. 


which  Inv  ban-  wIhto  a  wide  ticviii.'  inarkcil 
tlic  IliK"  of  ill  ava^'o. 

"'Jai-k,  will  Mill  li^k  vom  lil'i'  <>m  tlio 
iliaiiri  ?' said  SiliailViT,  kiiidlv. 

••  'I'lu-  (-toiil  miner  never  faltered  dr  hesi- 
tated . 

••  •  I't'  it  was  i|iiiiksa:id  or  wet  ilav,  wliiili 
il  i^n'l.  he'd  do  as  iiiuih  Tor  me." 

•■  '  I  )eii  iMlhiiv  down  dal  ireviee.  ilere,  and 
dii,' elii^e  |()  de  r<n'k  ;' and,  after  a  few  short 
(inestions  and  answers,  the  skilled  miner  set 
the  proper  direelion,  and  several  men  eom- 
nicneed  di>,'uini,'  rapidly  in  tiie  ranj^e  indicated. 

"  At  first  the  work  was  easy  and  eonipara- 
tivclv  safe:  hut  hy  mornini;.  when  they  struck 
the  broken  supports,  the  loose  earth  anil  fraif- 
ments  of  rock  threalened  cmtv  moment  lo 
bury  our  friend  and  his  would-be  saviors  in 
one  common  tomb.  I'inaily  Jack  cried  out 
that  wc  had  found  him:  and  we  drew  up  the 
limp,  insensible  body,  and  afterw;irds  tlie  ni'- 
tier,  worn  out  with  latiicue  and  sorrow. 

"  A  litter  was  improvised,  and  the  body  of 
our  friend  taken  to  the  shaft,  where  it  was 
raised  to  the  surface  and  cjuried  to  the  bouse. 
For  !i  loni?  time  all  ell'orts  iit  resuscitation 
failed:  but  at  last  Sam  knew  lis;  anil  the  doc- 
tor said  that  he  would  live. 

"  I  watched  with  him  that  day,  :uul  about 
noon  he  woki-  and  seemed  to  know  me.  lie 
tried  to  speak,  but  all  that  I  could  diNliuLfuish 
was  'Look  here:  huv  stock:  'ami  he  molioneil 
to  his  breast,  :ind  then  a-jain  sank  into  ;i  kind 
of  doze.  His  clothes  lay  on  the  cluiir  beside 
me;  and  taking  his  ronifh  vest,  I  tried  the 
inner  pocket.  It  was  t"ull  of  a  curious  black 
material,  of  a  friable  nature,  and  amoui;  it 
were  one  or  two  lumps  of  an  opaque,  horn- 
like substance,  whose  weii^ht  bore  witness  lo 
its  mineral  nature.  We  had  '  struck  it  rich  '  at 
last.     It  was  native  chloride  of  silver. 

"  I  called  SehaelVer  in,  and  showed  him  the 
specimens.  I  shall  never  forget  how  he  lis- 
tened impatiently  to  my  story  of  where  I  pro- 
cured it,  and  how  be  ,embr;iced  me  when  he 
found  that  Sam's  nearly  liital  adventure  had 
brought  us  the  I'orUiue  we  had  almost  de- 
spaired of. 

•'  1  ijot  leave  to  i;o  to  San  Francisco  at  once, 
for  the  day  we  had  long  been  preparing  tor 
had  come.  For  ten  years  Sam  and  I  bad  saved 
our  joint  earnings;  for  ever  since  the  d:iy 
when  we  broke  open  the  stone-ware  money- 
box Me  have  had  one  purse. 

"  We  were  worth  about  fil'teen  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  before  the  end  of  the  week  I  had 
bought  at  the  broker's  .board  lifteen  hundred 
shares  ol'  ■  Consolidated  '  stock.     It  cost  on  an 


average  ten  dollars  a  share.  Two  weeks  later 
the  shares  li:iil  gone  up  to  fifty  dollars.  I  want- 
ed to  unload;  but  Sam  kept  run  of  the  lead, 
:uiil  tidd  me  to  hold  on. 

"We  sold  out  at  two  hundred  dollars,  and 
mjide,  of  course,  nearly  three  hundred  thou- 
sand dolliirs,  .Since  then  we  have  bought  and 
sold  stocks,  and  have  manijndated  millions  of 
dollars.  We  vowed  to  ruin  you:  but.  bapjiily. 
we  'earned  in  time  of  your  ill  health  and 
changed  feelings  towards  me.  Your  shares 
in  'Ophir'  are  a  good  investment,  :ind,  if 
you  hold  on  patiently,  you  will  regain  your 
losses," 

The  night  sh:ules  had  begun  to  gather. 
.Siinire  .\mory  ro^e  to  go  in,  and  the  rest  fol- 
lowed bis  example.  Laura  iUone  stood  look- 
ing to  seawiud  from  the  rose-entwined  jioich, 
Edward  suddenly  joiiied  her. 

••[must  return  to  Nevada,"  said  lie,  "  un- 
less vou  can  give  a  I'avorable  answer  to  my 
ipu'stion  of  last  night." 

'•You  know,  Kdward,  that  I  :dw:\ys  lo\ed 
you:  but  my  father  may  be  taken  away  at  any 
lime;  ami  you  have  too  much  yonder  to  sac- 
rilice  for  me." 

"So.  Laura,  r.o:  I  do  not  think  so.  Wide- 
-piead  as  ;ire  the  ledges  which  stand  where  once 
curled  the  liery  waves  of  a  molten  se;i ;  dee]! 
a--  iue  the  shafts  which  follow  the  narrow  veins, 
^hot  with  precious  metals,  to  their  central 
sources  far  below  the  reach  of  e\en  man's 
tireless  search  for  wealth  ;  vast  as  are  the  riches 
which  still  aw;iit  the  dauntless  seeker,  —  still, 
contentment  is  the  source  ol'  all  happiness, 
and  love  is  not  to  be  sold  I'or  a  little  more 
gain." 

.\nd  later,  when  the  whole  earth  was  ring- 
ing with  tidings  of  the  vi-.st  wealth  of  the  mines 
of  Nevada.  Kdward  Boyd  sat  one  evening  by 
the  window,  gazing  abstractedly  into  the  star- 
lit ^ky.  His  paper  had  fallen  from  his  hands, 
and  his  voung  wife  knew  what  had  taken  jios- 
session  of  his  heart.  With  the  little  Kdward 
in  her  arms,  she  glided  to  his  sitie. 

'•  .\re  you  sorry  that  you  did  not  go  back.'" 
she  said,  tenderly. 

The  vision  of  the  fierce  contlict  of  warring 
interests  and  'splendid  successes,  which  had 
temptetl  him  t'or  a  moment,  faded  away,  and 
the  llush  passed  I'rom  bis  face  as  Ic  answered.  — 

••  1  have  enough  :uid  to  sp:ire,  and  :ill  that 
can  ennoble  the  soul  or  enlarge  the  under- 
standing is  spread  out  before  me.  Why  should 
1  care  to  leave  home  and  friends,  :uid  :i  love 
bevond  price,  to  join  in  yonder  heartless  strife, 
although  the  prize  were  the  richest  lead  of 
Tmi:  Gri;.\t  noN.\NZ.\?" 


J 


m 


M 


'f 


V I ;  r  R  ( )  M  A , 


»3 


ro  week-'  later 
)lhl|•^.  I  want- 
Ill  111   tlie  Icail, 

il  iliillars,  aii'.l 
luiulicil  thoii- 
ve  liimylit  anil 
L-il  millions  of 
;  liut,  happily, 
11  lieallli  ami 
Your  shares 
ineiit,  and,  if 
II  ii'i;ain  your 

m  to  L;atlier. 
1  the  rest  fol- 
le  stood  look- 
Iwineil  ))orch. 

said  he.  "  un- 
inswer   to  niv 

always  lo\ed 
n  away  at  any 
■oiuler  to  sac- 
Ilk  so.  Wide- 
lul  where  onee 
ten   sea;  deep 

narrow  veins, 

their  eentrrtl 
it'  e\en  man's 
%are  the  riehes 
-eeker,  —  still, 
;ill    happiness, 

a  little   more 

irtli  was  rini{- 
h  of  the  mines 
le  evening  by 
■  into  the  star- 
DHi  hi-  hands, 
Kill  taken  jios- 
little  Kdward 
de. 
not  go  baek.^" 

ict  of  warring 
;s.  whieh  had 
Jed  away,  and 
1?  aiisweied.  — 
•,  and  all  that 
ge  the  under- 
.  Why  should 
.Is,  and  a  love 
icartless  strife, 
idlest   lead  of 


«l» 


VAOATION   IN   PETROLU. 

I.    BORINa    rOU    OIL. 

ARTHUR  and  Fred  had  an  invitation  from 
their  uncle  Charley  to  li-it  him  in  the 
oil  regions,  and  see  how  petroleum  was  taken 
from  the  depth*  of  the  earth.  Their  parents 
consented  to  their  spending  "  the  long  vaca- 
tion ■'  there.  They  needed  little  baggage,  ex- 
cept an  old  suit  of  clothes  and  a  strong  pair 
of  hoots,  each  —  so  their  uncle  wrote.  Little 
I.cdu  wanted  them  to  "brin'  her  some  oil  to 
ilease  her  haa,"  and  she  carefully  tucked  a  hot-" 
tie  into  the  corner  of  their  trunk  for  that  pur- 
pose. As  they  left  their  pleasant  Massachu- 
setts home,  the  last  thing  they  saw  was  Lulu 
laboriously  waving  a  towel,  in  lack  of  a  hand- 
kerchief; and  the  last  thing  they  heard  was  her 
piped  injunction,  "Don't  fordet  my  oi-el !  " 

Uncle  Charley  nut  them  at  Titusville,  and 
went  with  them  down  (3il  Creek.  Leaving 
the  cars  a  few  mdes  below  Titusville,  they 
went  by  a  road  which  wound  its  way  among 
rocks  and  stunted  trees  up  the  steep  mountain- 
sides, and  reached  the  tract  on  which  was 
uncle  Charley's  lease.  'I'liey  were  ania/ed  at 
the  number  of  derricks  they  saw.  There  were 
derricks  everywhere  —  on  the  level  all  along 
the  creek,  and  scattered  all  up  the  steep  sides, 
and  on  the  very  tops  of  the  blulVs,  in  places 
where  it  did  not  seem  possible  for  a  derrick, 
or  even  a  man,  to  stand.  The  greatest  won- 
der of  all  was  how  men  ever  raised  the  big 
engines  and  p-^nderous  machinery  to  places 
where  one  could  not  climb  without  grasjiing 
roots  and  shrubs  to  keep  from  falling. 

Arthur  said  the  derricks  looked  like  skele- 
tons of  pyramids. 

"No,"  said  Fred;  "they  look  like  frames 
to  build  lots  of  Hunker  Hill  Monuments  with." 
On  the  tract  where  uncle  Charley's  lease  is 
there  were  thirty  wells  drilling  or  in  opera- 
tion, and  the  scene  was  one  of  life  and  inte<-est, 
instead  ofthe  wildness  and  desolation  they  had 
expected  to  see.  The  forest  of  spectre-looking 
derricks,  the  smoke  and  steam  of  the  engines, 
the  clatter  of  bull-wheels,  the  "  whir  "  of 
sand-pump  reels,  the  shouts  of  teamsters  and 
miners,  the  constant  coming  and  going  of 
mud-bespattered  men  in  long  boots,  some 
prospecting  for  leases,  some  buying  and  some 
selling  oil,  others  arranging  for  the  boring  of 
new  wells,  —  all  this  made  up  a  strange  and 
exciting  life. 

The  boys  took  a  deep  interest  in  the  busi- 
,ness,  and  begged  to  sf.y  at  the  wells  all  the 
time,  instead  of  at  Titusville,  with  an  occa- 
gioiial  visit  to  the  wells,  as   their  father  had 


planned.  Uncle  Chnr'.'y.  who  remembered 
his  own  boyhood  better  than  most  men,  and 
appreciated  a  boy's  love  of  adventure,  in- 
dorsed their  petition,  saying.  "  Why,  let 
'em  stay,  John.  They  can  get  their  meaU 
at  the  boarding-house  with  the  men,  and  I 
will  have  n  bunk  built  for  them  in  the  shanty 
where  the  rest  sleep,  and  1  warrant  they  will 
like  it.  They  wouldn't  be  easy  in  Titusv>'ie  a 
d.ny,  after  catching  the  excitement  ofthe  h.i-i- 
ness.  Afeit  who  t.i-te  this  life  want  to  stay 
in  it." 

So  it  was  an-anged,  and  the  boys  enjoyed  it 
fron.  first  to  last.  Their  mother's  anxiety 
about  their  health,  in  such  an  unaccustomed, 
rough  mode  of  lite,  was  groundless.  Lvery- 
body  was  well.  The  men  attributed  it  to  the 
oil  with  which  they  were  covered,  and  the  gas 
of  which  they  breathed.  One  of  them  told 
the  boys  that,  if  they  wanted  to  enjoy  good 
health,  they  should  take  a  swim  every  morn- 
ing in  one  of  the  tubs  of  black,  odorous 
grease.  Probably  the  bracing  air,  pure  water, 
active,  rugged  life,  and  plain  fare,  had  as  much 
to  do  with  good  health  as  the  oil  and  gas. 

The  men  who  had  the  contract  to  bore 
uncle  Charley's  well  were  just  beginning  oper- 
ations. The  boys  soon  were  on  intimate  terms 
with  them,  and  asked  many  questions.  They 
made  themselves  cpiite  useful  in  handii.g  tools 
and  nails,  and  going  on  errands;  and,  as  they 
were  well-behaved  boys,  abroad  as  well  as  at 
home,  and  took  care  not  to  get  in  the  way,  the 
workmen  were  glad  to  have  them  there. 

The  first  thing  was  building  the  derrick. 
They  commenced  by  nailing  strips  of  plank 
together  at  the  two  edges,  forming  a  half 
square.  Fred  asked  if  those  were  troughs  to 
run  the  oil  in.  The  men  smiled,  and  said 
they  were  for  the  corners  of  the  derrick.  Four 
of  these  they  set  up  on  end  twenty  feet  apart, 
leaning  them  a  little  towards  each  other,  and 
spiked  strong  cross-pieces  and  braces  from  one 
to  the  other.  Then  another  section  was  built 
on  the  top  of  this,  in  the  same  way,  still  leaning 
towards  the  centre,  until,  when  the  derrick  was 
fifty-six  feet  high,  it  nearly  came  to  a  peak  in 
the  centre.  On  the  top  they  fixed  two  iron 
pulleys.  Then  they  laid  a  strong  floor  in  the 
derrick,  and  nailed  pieces  at  one  corner  to  make 
a  ladder  to  the  top,  and  the  derrick  was  fin- 
ished. 

Arthur  and  Fred  were  as  much  delighted 
with  the  tower  as  if  they  had  built  it  'iiem- 
selvcs;  and,  indeed,  they  had  helped.  Arthur 
climbed  the  ladder,  and  stood  on  the  pulley- 
frame  at  the  to|  .  A  mixed  panorama  was 
spread   out  before    him.     Far   away  extended 


...«.  — wttiJW. 


mmm/ 


«w 


I 

II 


24 


PETROLIA. 


the  valleys  ^f  Oil  Creek  and  the  Allephanv 
River,  with  tlic  Allegl  .in_v  Mountains  on  eacli 
side.  All  the  expanse  of  mountain  and  val- 
ley was  dotted  .vitli  derricks  and  engine- 
houses.  Even  beyond  where  he  could  dis- 
tinguish these  he  could  tell  the  location  of 
many  oil  wells  by  the  putVs  of  steam,  which 
made  white  llecks  on  the  dark  background. 
He  gave  three  cheers  for  the  new  derrick,  in 
which  Fred  joined  from  below,  and  then  went 
down.  How  would  his  mother  feel  if  she  had 
known  what  he  was  doing! 

Fred  v.anted  to  go  up  also;  but  liis  uncle, 
thinking  he  was  too  small  for  such  a  ven- 
ture, told  him  that  he  might  buy  a  Hag  the 
next  time  he  went  to  Titusville,  and  hoist 
it  at  the  top  of  the  derrick,  and  then  he  could 
claim  the  only  American  Hag  on  that  tract. 
Fred  did  this  the  very  next  day.  One  of  the 
men  put  at  the  peak  a  slender  tlag-staft'  for  him, 
and  the  stars  and  stripes  made  a  fine  appear- 
ance, Fred  thought.  "I  am  Columbus!" 
cried  he;  "and  I  have  taken  possession  of 
this  oil  country,  and  raised  the  American  flag 
in  the  name  of  the  Continental  Congress." 
Fred's  history  was  a  little  out  of  joint,  but  he 
was  as  enthusiastic  as  a  man  who  discovers  a 
new  country  and  tnakcs  history. 

The  bo3's  then  went  with  a  gang  cf  men 
into  the  woods  to  cut  timber.  They  felled 
several  large  trees.  First  they  hewed  a  stick 
fifteen  inches  square,  and  cut  it  olf  thirteen 
feet  long;  and  cut  a  tenon  on  one  end.  This, 
the  men  said,  was  the  samson-post.  Fred  > 
thought  it  was  strong  enough  to  be  called 
"  Samson." 

Then  they  hewed  out  two  more  lar£.'  tim- 
bers, and  cut  them  fourteen  feet  long.  These 
they  fitted  together  like  a  cross,  and  cut  a 
mortise  in  the  centre  where  the  sticks  crossed. 
These  were  the  bed-timbers  for  the  samson- 
post,  and  the  mortise  was  to  receive  the  ten- 
on of  it.  All  these  weie  hauled  to  the  der- 
rick. The  cross-timbers  were  firmly  bedded 
in  the  ground  by  digging,  and  the  samson- 
post  set  up  in  the  mortise.  Strong  braces 
were  set  up  from  each  end  01  the  bed-timbers 
to  the  top  of  the  post,  and  spiked  there.  All 
this  made  the  post  very  firm. 

"  Xow,"  said  Mr.  Bowers,  the  foreman  of 
the  wc-k,  "we  must  cut  a  walking-beam." 

Fred  thought  he  meant  a  cane,  and  asked 
his  uncle  where  they  were  going,  that  thuy 
needed  walking-sticks. 

Uncle  Charley  said  the  right  name  of  the 
stick  was  "  rvotkiiiff-hc:^m."  This  was  hewed 
out  twenty-four  feet  long,  ten  by  sixteen  inclns 
in  s!z.<  at  the  middle,  and  tapering  out  to  eight 
inches  square  at  either  end. 


Now  they  bolted  an  iron   to  the  top  of  the 
samson-post,  and  on  the  middle  of  the  walk- 
ing-beam   another  iron  to  fit  into  it.     Then, 
with  all   the  help  they  could  get,  thev  raised 
the  beam  up   to  the  top  of  the  samson-post, 
and  balanced   it  tuerc,  by  fitting  the  irons  to- 
gether so  it  wou'.J  rock  easily.     The  post  and  1 
working-beam  were  so  placed  that  one  end  of 
the  beam  was   in   the  derrick,  over  its  centre 
the  spot  where  the  well  must  be. 

•'O,  what  a  splendid  teeter!"  cried  Fred. 
And  he  and  Arthur  climbed  up  the  braces  of 
the  samson-post  to  the  top  of  the  working- 
beam,  '•  hitched "  along  to  the  ends,  and 
"see-sawed"  a  long  time. 

■^Vhile  all  this  work  (and  play)  had  been 
going  on,  teams  had  hauied  the  steam-engine 
and  other  machinery  from  the  railroad  up  to 
the  derrick. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Bowers,  "  we'll  put  up  the 
bull-wheel." 

The  bull-wheel  had  been  brought,  ready- 
made,  from  Titusville.  It  is  a  turned  shaft  of 
wood,  eight  inches  in  diameter,  and  eight  feet 
long,  with  J  six-feet  wheel  set  on  near  each 
end.  The  spokes  of  the  wheels  were  left  un- 
covered at  the  end,  so  that  the  men  could  take 
hold  to  turn  tlie  shaft,  as  a  pilot  does  the  wheel 
by  which  he  steers  a  boat.  The  sides  of  the 
wheels  facing  each  other  were  boarded  up 
smoothly,  so  that  the  arms  would  not  catch 
the  rope  while  winding  it  on  the  shaft  between 
the  wheels.  On  the  outside  of  one  of  the 
wheels  was  fastened  a  large  grooved  pulley; 
this  was  to  receive  a  rope-belt  from  the  engine 
to  drive  the  bull-wheel.  The  men  hung  the 
bull-wheel  by  iron  journals,  or  gudgeons,  in 
each  end  of  its  shaft,  so  it  would  turn  freely. 
It  was  placed  in  a  frame  between  the  legs  of 
the  derrick,  at  the  side  opposite  to  the  work- 
ing-beam. 

Arthiu-  and  Fied  set  to  work  to  wind  the 
drill-rope  on  the  bull-wheel  shaft.  As  this 
was  a  heavy  cable,  one  and  a  half  inches  in 
diameter  and  several  hundred  feet  long,  it  took 
the  boys  a  long  time  to  coil  it  on  the  shaft; 
but  the}'  persevered,  and  finally  got  it  nicely 
wound.  They  called  it  their  kite-line  and 
spool,  and  tried  to  guess  how  large  a  kite  the 
cable  would  hold. 

The  next  thing  was  the  band-wheel.  This 
is  set  in  a  strong  frame,  called  the  jack-frame, 
and  placed  so  that  one  end  of  the  brnd-vvhcel 
shaft  comes  direct!}-  under  one  end  of  Mie 
working-beam  —  that  end  which  is  out  of  the 
derrick.  The  band-wheel  is  six  feet  in  diame- 
ter, and  has  a  six-inch  face,  on  which  is  to  be 
placed  the  driving-belt  of  the  engine.  On  one 
side  of  the  wheel  is  a  grooved  pulley,  like  that 


I 


-:? 


"f 


he  top  of  the 
5  of  the  walk- 
ito  it.  Then. 
t,  they  raised 
samson-post, 
the  irons  to- 
The  post  and  1 
at  one  end  of 
er  its  centre 

'  cried  Fred, 
the  braces  of 
the  working- 
e    ends,    and 

ly)  had  been 
steam-engine 
ailroad  up  to 

"11  put  up  the 

lught,  ready- 
rned  sliaft  of 
ind  eiglit  feet 
m  near  each 
were  left  un- 
;n  could  take 
nes  the  wheel 
sides  of  the 
boarded  up 
Id  not  catch 
haft  between 
one  of  the 
oved  pulley; 
m  the  engine 
en  hung  the 
gudgeons,  in 
1  turn  freely. 
1  the  legs  of 
to  the  work- 
to  wind  the 
[ift.  As  this 
M  inches  in 
long,  it  took 
in  the  shaft; 
jot  it  nicely 
ite-line  and 
ge  a  kite  the 

vheel.  This 
;  jack-frame, 
:  br.nd-'.vhcel 
end  of  'he 
is  out  of  the 
:et  in  diame- 
liich  is  to  be 
ne.  On  one 
ley,  like  that 


If 


1'  !•:  T  R  O  L  I  A  . 


25 


"r 


I 


on  the  bull-wheel,  on  which  the  rope-belt  is  to 
be  run.  On  one  end  of  the  band-wheel  shaft 
is  a  crank,  which  is  to  be  connected  with  the 
end  of  the  working-beam  above  by  a  pitman  ; 
when  the  crank  tvirns  and  the  pitnnn  is  on,  it 
will  work  the  beam  up  and  down. 

On  the  side  of  the  band-wheel  farthest  from 
the  derrick  they  set  up  the  sand-pump  -eel. 
As  this  reel  is  to  wind  a  smaller  rope  on,  it  is 
made  smaller  than  the  bull-wheel  shaft.  The 
sand-pump  reel  is  turned  by  a  friction-pulley 
oti  one  end  of  it.  The  pulley  can  be  moved. 
in  its  frame,  and  made  to  bear  against  the  face 
of  the  band-wheel  at  .".  point  where  the  driv- 
ing-belt does  not  touch  the  face  of  the  wheel. 
The  frame  of  the  reel  is  moved  by  a  lever  in 
the  derrick,  so  as  to  force  the  friction-pulley 
against  the  band-wheel,  or  take  it  oiVand  stop 
the  reel,  at  the  pleasure  of  the  man  in  the  der- 
rick. As  the  friction-pulley  is  much  smaller 
than  the  band-wheel,  the  sand-pump  reel  turns 
very  fast  when  the  friction-pulley  is  "in 
gear." 

After  the  reel  was  up  the  boys  threw  it  "  out 
of  gear"  by  the  lever  in  the  derrick,  ami  then 
they  reeled  the  sand-pump  rope  on. 

The  engine  and  boiler  were  now  put  in  place, 
a  few  feet  from  the  band-wlv.el;  a  belt  was 
put  on  from  the  driving-wheel  of  the  engine 
to  the  band-wheel,  and  they  were  reatly  to 
"  ru.i."  When  the  friction-pulley  was  forced 
against  the  band-wheel  the  sand-pump  reel 
would  turn.  When  the  pitman  was  put  on  the 
crank  of  the  band-wheel  the  working-beam 
would  rock  on  the  samson-post.  When  the 
rope-belt  was  put  on  the  band-wheel  the  bull- 
wheel  would  turn  and  wind  up  the  drill-rope. 
Thus  the  band-wheel  could  be  used  in  three 
ways. 

An  engine-h-'us ;  was  now  built  over  the 
engine,  and  a  litt:.'  shed  over  the  band-wheel 
and  band  to  protect  them.  In  the  engine- 
house  they  also  put  up  a  blacksmith's  forge, 
where  they  could  mend  their  tools,  sharpen 
the  drills,  iVc. 

In  the  derrick  they  ')uilt  a  shed  to  shield  the 
men  from  the  weat..  •-,  and  from  the  mud, 
water,  and  oil,  which  would  drip  iVom  the 
ropes  and  tools  when  drawn  out  of  the  well. 

The  first  step  in  sinking  the  well,  the  boys 
learned,  is  to  drive  pipe.  As  far  down  as  there 
isonlvearthorsmall  stones. and  until  solid  rock 
is  met,  iron  pipe  can  be  driven  without  drilling. 
To  drive  this  pipe,  the  workmen  set  up  in  the 
centre  of  the  derrick  two  strong  plank  slide- 
ways,  twenty  feet  high,  fiftec:'.  inches  apart, 
taking  care  to  make  them  perfectly  perpendic- 
ular, and  fasten  them  secure!  v.    B.'tween  these 


thev  hung  a  heavy  pile-driver.  The  loose  end 
of  the  drill-rope  was  nov/  carried  up  to  the  fop 
of  the  derrick,  jiassed  through  the  big  pulley, 
and  down  to  the  battering-ram  betweeti  the 
slide-ways. 

The  drive-pipe  is  cast-iron, 
six  inches  inside  diameter,  and 
of  various  lengths,  the  walls 
or  shell  of  the  cylintier  being 
about  an  inch  thick.  Fred 
said  a  ]iiece  would  make  a 
^^'■od  cannon,  if  one  end 
oould  be  plugged  up  and  a 
vent  made.  Arthur  tliought  it 
looked  like  Lord  Rosse's  tele- 
scope; as  neither  of  the  boys 
had  ever  seen  a  big  telescope, 
they  agreed  that  the  pipe  did 
look  lil.e  one. 

TheentI  of  the  pipe  first  start- 
ed into  the  ground  is  shod  with 
steel,  that  it  may  better  fo.xe 
its  ,vay:  and  the  upiier  ei.d 
-  protected  bv  a  driving-cap, 
,^o  that  the  pipe  may  not  be 
battereil  or  broKcn  in  driving. 

The  first  lengt'i  of  iiipe  was 
now  set  up  between  the  slide- 
ways,  and  the  belt-rope  run 
on  the  bull-wheel.  The  I'.eavy 
ram  was  thus  drawn  up  to  the 
slide-ways,  where  a  "  stop  " 
knocked  the  rope  loose  from 
the  ram,  and  it  fell,  with  a 
powerful  blow,  on  the  top  of 
the  drive-pipe.  l>y  repeating 
this  process,  lire  pipe  was 
forced  downward. 

••  Do  you  care  if  it  don't  go 
down  straight.'"  asked  Arthur. 

Mr.  Bowers,  who  is  a  Yan-  Duivi.-imit:. 
kee,  answered,  "  Well,  I  rather 
guess  I  do.  If  it  leans  the  least  bit.  I  must 
straighten  it  up;  or  if  I  e:\\\\  do  that.  I  should 
have  to  pull  it  all  up.  and  stmt  in  a  new  -place. 
If  it  isn't  •'  plumb,"  we  can't  get  the  drilling- 
tools  through;  or  if  they  went  through,  they 
would  keep  sticking.  I  must  keep  testing  the 
uprightness  of  the  pipe  with  this  spirit-level." 

'•  If  you  strike  a  stone,  then  what  will  jou 
do?  "  asked  Fred. 

"  If  it  is  a  small  stone,  the  ]iipe  will  crowd 
it  a,sidc  into  the  earth.  If  it  is  large,  we 
shall  have  to  drill  a  hole  through  it  for  the 
pipe.  If  the  pipe  strikes  the  edge  or  snelving 
side  of  a  boulder,  tlie  pipe  may  be  forced 
aside,  or  even  broken — though  I  n".ist  keep 
watch  for  that." 


n" 


26 


P  E  T  R  O  L  I A . 


"  How  can  you  tell  wlien  it  strikes  a  stone?" 
'•  O,  I  can  tell  by  the  sound  of  the  blows. 
I  caTi  tell  about  hr)w  large  the  stone  is.     We 
shall   soon   be   clown  to  the  bed-rock;  and  if 
vDu  listen,  vou  can  tell  when  we  strike  it." 
•'  Wliat  is  the  bed-rock.'"  asked  Arthur. 
'•  Should  think  rocks  v/ould  make  a  prelty 
lurd  bed,"  interrupted  Fred. 

"  The  bed-rock."  answered  the  miner.   '•  is 
the  first  rock  we  come  to." 

•■  Anil  now  can  vou 
tell  how  near  you  are 
to  the  rock  .'  "  asked  Ar- 
thur. 

'■  Because  we  have 
driven  nineteen  feet  of 
pi]H".  and  none  of  the 
wells  around  here  drive 
more  than  twenty-four 
feet."  answered  Mr.  How- 
ers.  '■  In  some  jilaces  they 
dri\e  seventy-live  or  one 
luuulred  feet  of  pipe." 

After  a  little  wliile  tlie 
lK)ys  noticetl  the  report 
of  the  ram  clianijed  from 
a  dull,  heavy  sound  to 
a  sli:u'per.  i-iny;imj  blow. 

'•  .Mil"  cried  ,\rthur. 
"  tliere  is  tlie  bed-rock." 

"  'S'es  ;  stop  drivin;4  .'  " 
shouted  Fred,  as  prompt- 
ly as  if  he  were  foreman. 

And  the  drivinif  was 
immediately  stopped,  as 
Fred  orileied. 

"  .\rtliur,"  said  Mr. 
liowers,  "can  \'ui 
write.'  " 

'•  Ho  I  "  said  .\rthur, 
(juite  indiy;mintly ;  "  I 
sjiould  tliink  I  oujiht 
to.  Fr  d  can  write,  and 
he  is  only  a  little  boy." 

Fred  looked  up  at  Ar- 
thur to  see  if  Arthur 
really  was  so  nmch  biL;- 
L;er  than  himself  as  his 
talk  indicated. 

"  Can  you  keep 
books.'"  continued  Mr. 
I'lowers. 

■■Yes,  sir;  I  have 
stiulied     book-keeping." 

"  Well,    we'll    appoint 

you  book-keeper.    In  the 

bo.\    in    the  shai-ty   is  a 

RopeSocket  blank  bonk.   On  thei^a'^je 


where  I  have  set  down  the  date  on  which  we 
commenced  to  drive  pipe,  you  may  set  down 
the  date  ol'  this  day  that  we  struck  bed-rock, 
and  the  number  of  feet  of  pi|)e." 

Arthur  did  so;  and  he  kept  a  complete  rec- 
ord of  each  step  of  the  work,  describing  the 
kind  of  rock  they  met,  and  the  depth  at  whi.h 
they  found  anything  iieculiar.  The  pipe  being 
d-iwn  to  the  rock,  the  ram  was  taker:  down, 
and  the  slides  torn  away.  'J"he  earth  was  iu>w 
cleaned  out  of  the  pipe,  and  the  drilling-tools 
brought  in.  At  first  the  hole  was  not  deep 
enough  to  take  in  all  the  tools,  but  they  soon 
drilled,  with  part  of  them,  deep  enough  to  aii- 
mit  all;  then  the  work  proceeded  faster. 

First,  a  forked  iron,  called  the  liope-SocAct, 
was  fastened  over  and  around  the  end  of  the 
drill-rope.  The  rope-socket  had  a  thread  cut 
on  the  1  )vver  end.  On  this  was  screwed  a 
pomlerous  iron  bar  two  and  a  half  inches  in 
diameter  and  eight  feet  in  length,  called  the 
Si/i/:cr-J><ir.      (See  preceding  column.) 

••  Now    bring  on   the   jars,"  said 
the  foreman. 

Fred  immediately  thought  of  his 
mother's  pi'eserves.  and  anticipated 
s(!mething  nice  to  eat.  Instead  of 
that,  the  men  screwed  on  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sinker-bar  a  heavy 
machine  that  looked  like  .two  loops 
or  links  out  of  an  immense  chain. 
They  were  forged  of  two  inch 
scjuare  steel  :  the  slit  in  the  loops 
was  about  two  feet  long  and  two 
inches  wide.  They  were  inter- 
locked, as  in  a  chain,  and  on  the 
tree  end  of  each  was  the  necessary 
thread  tor  screwing  into 
the  other  tools. 

(in  the  lower  end  of  the 
i.irs.  as  they  hung  by  the 
rope,  \\  as  screwed  the 
greatest  piece  yet.  It  is 
twenty-two  feet  long,  and 
of  the  same  thickness  a. 
the  sinker-bar.  It  needetl 
a  good  many  men  to  carry 
it.  They  call  {{ihi;  Aiiffcr- 
S/rm. 

•■  Now."  saiti  Mr.  Bow- 
ers. '■  we'll  put  on  the 
Cciitfi'-lUt.  and  down  she 
goes." 

The    Hit    is    three    feet 

long,  llattened    and  made 

sliar|>  aiul  hard  at  the  end. 

The  boys  called  the  tools 

over  in  their  order  :  Rope-      Sit, 


\ 


[ 


;  on  wliicli  we 
m;\y  M't  ilown 
lick  bed-rock, 

complete  rec- 
lescrihiiiff  the 
leptli  at  wlii.h 
"he  Jiipe  being 

takei'  down, 
'aitli  was  now 

chillinj;-to(>ls 
was  not  deep 
but  thev  soon 
enoutjh  to  ail- 
d  faster. 

liope-SocAct, 
;he  end  of  tlie 
d  a  thread  cut 
,as  screwed  a 
lalf  inclie.s  in 
;th,  called  the 
iunin.) 
he   jars, "  said 

houi^ht  of  his 
id  anticipated 
t.  Instead  of 
ed  on  at  the 
-bar  a  heavy 
like  .two  loops 
nieiise  chain, 
of    two     inch 

in   the  loops 

lonir  and  two 

were     inter- 

1.  ami  on  the 

the  necessary 

into 


f  the 

v  the 

the 

rl! 

It    is 

|| 

1 

,  and 

1 

ss  a,- 

1 

■eded 

!;  1 

carrv 

yi 

li^cr- 

9 

b'Ji:i 

How- 

W^. 

thr 

)  she 

feet 

'""""TTf 

iiade 

end. 

=i^;f3 

.ope-      J 

3ii 

I 

% 


P  K  T  R  O  L  I  A  . 


I 


socket,  Sinker-bar,  Jars.  Auger-Stem,  and 
Centre-bit.  When  they  were  all  on,  tiiey 
reached  from  the  floor  of  the  derrick  to  the 
pull'V  at  the  top.  Each  joint  was  screwed 
verj-  tight  with  two  monstrous  wrenches,  so 
that  they  might  not  work  apart  in  the  well. 
••  Whv  are  they  niude  so  long.'"  asked  Fred. 
••  To  get  weight  to  lone  the  bit  down.  We 
can't  have  tl-.ein  any  thicker  than  two  and  a 
half  inches,  and  so  we  get  the  weight  in  the 
length." 

'•  How  much  do  they  weigh  .'  " 
'■About  fil'teen  hundred  pomuls." 

A  very  curious  machine  was 
now  attached  by  a  simple  rod 
to  the  end  of  tlit  working- 
beam  o\er  the  well.  It  is 
called  a  Tciii/<ei-Strcxv.  It 
had  a  s(iuare  loop  to  lit  over 
the  end  of  the  working-beam. 
A  screw  three  feet  long  worked 
in  a  thill  iron  frame,  through 
a  nut  at  the  bottom  of  the 
frame ;  the  screw  is  turned  in 
tlie  I'rame,  ami  thus  raised  or 
lowered,  by  means  of  a  haiulle 
in  the  lieail  of  it.  Hanging 
from  the  head  of  the  screw 
were  two  links  and  a  clamp, 
oji'-rated  by  a  set-screw,  hv 
which  the  temper-screw  coiilc: 
bo  securely  clamjKci  and  fas- 
tenec'  on  the  tlrill-rope  at  an\ 
place. 

The  boys  quickly  saw  how 
all  this  was  operated.  The 
lever  that  hekl  tlie  bull-wheel 
stationary  was  raised  and  the 
drilling  tools  began  to  descend 
rapidly  into  the  well,  uncoil- 
ing the  cable  very  fast";  one 
of  the  men  held  a  brake  ban 
against  the  face  of  the  bull- 
wheel  to  regulate  the  speed.  When  all  the 
tools  had  passed  down,  so  that  the  bit  was 
near  the  bottom  of  the  well,  the  bull-wheel 
was  stopped  by  means  of  the  brake,  and  the 
temper-screw  clamps  fastened  to  the  cable. 
Now  the  tools  hung  on  the  temper-screw  and 
working-beam,  instead  of  on  the  bull-wheel; 
considerable  slack  of  the  cable  was  pulled 
down,  and  coileil  upon  the  lloor,  ami  left 
hanging  below  the  temper-screw. 

As  f-oon  as  the  engine  was  set  in  motion, 
the  working-beam  began  to  rock  and  work 
the  tools  up  and  down  in  the  tube  about 
thirty  times  a  minute,  notvvithstanding  thev 
weighed   nearlv  a  ton.     One  of  the  workmen 


~'W\\A%';si,\\NNW; 


Boring  for  Oil. 

climbed  up  on  a  tall  stool  to  regulate  the 
drill. 

'■  Is  it  hriring  now.'"'  asked  Arthur. 

'•No;  the  bit  doesn't  cut  the  rock,  hut  I 
will  soon  make  it  strike;  "  and  he  commenced 
to  lower  the  tools  hv  turning  ilown  tlie  tem- 
per-screw. 

'•  Now  it  strikes."  said  he.  presently.  But 
he  still  kept  tuining  down  the  temper-screw. 


i!^ 


I 


28 


I'ETROLIA. 


II 


■■  Then  why  tlovou  turn  it  down  aiiv  more?" 
asked  Artliur,  anxiously. 

"So  the  jars  will  work."  he  replied;  "I 
must  have  slack  eiiouifh  so  the  upper  jar  will 
slide  down  about  six  inches  into  the  lower 
one;  then  on  the  upward  motion  the  jars 
come  to<;ether  with  a  heavy  blow.  This  starts 
the  drill  loose.  It  would  wedije  in  e\ery  time, 
if  it  was  not  knocked  loose  by  the  blow  of  the 
jars.  No  power  could  be  relii'd  on  to  draw  it 
out  by  steady  pullinic." 

•■  (),  "  cried  Fred,  clappina;  his  bands;  ••  now 
I  see  :  you  call   them  jars  because  they  yr^r  the 
tools   loose." 

'•  Kxactly."  replied  the  driller: 
*■  ami  I  can  make  it  jar  as  much 
or  as  little  as  I  please  with  the 
temper-screw." 

•'Ah,"  said  Arthur,  briskly; 
•'  don't  you  see,  Frecidy.  they 
call  it  a  temper-screw  because  it 
/cm/crs  the  stroke  of  the  drill 
Koin.t,'  down,  and  the  stroke  of 
the  jars  cominjj  up." 

••  I  can  feel  the  jar  on  the  rope, 
and  know  how  nuicli  jar  I  have 
on,"  said  the  driller.  j 

The  boys  put  their  iiands  on 
the  rope,  and  could  feel  distinctly  ' 
the  concussion  of  the  j.u-s  in  tlie 
well.  They  ccjuld  also  feel  it  on  ' 
the  other  end  of  the  workinir- 
beatn  by  laying  their  hands  on 
the  pitman. 

The  driller  kept  turninj;  the 
drill-rope  so  the  bit  would  not 
strike  twice  in  ihe  same  place, 
and  thus  worked  tl..  iiole  out 
nearly  round.  As  fast  as  the 
well  deepened  he  lowered  the 
drill,  keeping  the  same  amount 
of  jar. 

There  wa-  water  i  i  the  well 
several  feet  deeii.  which  kept  the 
drill  cool  as  it  worked. 

■'  I  know  what  that  is  for."  said 
Arthur;    ■•  so   the    drill    will    not 
heat,    lose    its    temper,    and    get 
soft." 
'   ■  '-Drills    are   like    boys,"   said 

uncle  Charley:  '•they  are  not 
gooil  for  much  if  they  lose  their 
ten  per." 

The  bit  having  now  worked  its 
w.ay  into  the  rock   the  length  of 
Mie  temper-screw,  it  h:ui  to  stoji. 
The    temper-screw    chimp   taken 
SanUFiimp    „ir  the  drilNn.pe,  the  bull-wheel 


:  was  set  in  motion  again,  and  the  tools  drawn 
out  of  the  well.  They  were  left  hanging  on 
the  drill-rope,  being  drawn  one  side,  out  of 
the  way,  by  a  cord  tied  to  the  side  of  the  der- 
rick. 

'•Now  for  the  sand-pump  to  bring  up  the 
chips,"  said  Mr.  Howers. 

The  Saiiil-Pump  is  a  cylinder,  usually  made 
of  galvanized  iron,  three  inches  inside  diam- 
eter and  eight  feet  long,  with  a  valve  at  the 
lower  end  and  a  bale  at  the  upper  end.  This 
bale  was  hung  on  a  hook  tied  to  the  end  of 
the  smaller  rope,  which  went  over  a  pulley  at 
the  top  of  the  derrick,  and  coiled  around  "the 
sand-pump  reel. 

As  the  sand-pump  descended  in  the  well  the 
rope  uncoiled  very  fast.    When  it  reached  bot- 
tom, one  of  the  men  took  hold  of  the  rope,  and 
clun-ned  It  up  and  down,   to   fdl   it  with  chips 
through  the  valve  in  the  bottom  of  the  pump. 
Arthur    now    took    hold    of    the    lever   that 
moved  the  reel,  and  brought  the  friction-pul- 
ley up  hanl  against  the  bull-wheel.     The  reel 
commenced  to  re-wind  the  rope,  and  the  sand- 
pump  cpiickly  came  up— not  lull  of  "chips" 
of  wood,  as  Fred  bad  expected—  but  of  water 
1  thick  wilh  mud  and  sand,  maile  of  pulverized 
rock.     It  was  sent  down  again  and  again,  until 
I  the  mud  was  all  out. 

I      Then  the  centre-bit  was  taken  off  the  auger- 

\  stem,  and  a  reamer  screwed  on  in  place  of  it. 

The  cutting  end  of  the  reamer  is  round,  with 

two  notches  in  it  like  teeth.    This  is  to  smooth 

.  off  and  round  the  irregular  hole  left  bv  the  bit. 

The  reamer  was  worked  as  the  bit  h:id  been 

;  until  it  had  finished  off  the  well  as  far  down 

j  as  the  bit  h.ad  cut.     Then  the  sand-pump  took 

,  out  the  chips  of  the   reamer,    and   they  were 

ready    to    make    another   advanci-    downward 

,  with  the   bit. 

I  So  they  went  on,  drilling  and  s"..id-pump- 
ing,  never  stopping,  night  or  .lay  —  unless 
something  was  wrong  with  the  m.achinery. 
Three  times  the  tools  got  "  stuck  "  in  the  rock, 
and  once  the  drill-rope  broke,  and  left  the  tools 
in  the  well. 

On-!  day  Mr.  Howers  came  out  of  the  der- 
I  uk,  and  said,  "  We  have  got  to  go  fishing." 
••  O,  goode_\- !  "  cried  Fred  ;  "  1  speak  to  go." 
He  soon  founfl  they  had  got  to  fish  tin-  tools 
out  of  the  well.  They  did  this  with  an  iron 
that  had  strong  barbs  or  teeth  on  it,  to  run 
down  beside  the  rope-socket  in  the  well,  and 
liook  over  it,  and  thus  bring  it  up,  with  the 
tools  after  it.  At  one  time  they  fastened  to 
one  piece,  and  unscrewed  it  and  brought  it 
up;  then  they  ran  an  extra  pair  of  jars  down, 
screwed  on  the  top  of  the  sinker-bar,  and  then 


i 


he  tf)(ils  drawn 
It  hanging  oii 
e  side,  out  of 
ide  of  the  der- 

>  briny  up  the 

■  u*iiially  made 
:s  insidi'  dium- 
a  vaUe  at  tlie 
ler  end.  This 
to  tiic  end  of 
er  a  pulley  at 
ed  around  the 

in  the  well  the 
it  re'iiehcd  hot- 
r  the  rope,  and 
it  with  ehips 
of  the  pump, 
he  lever  that 
.'  frietion-pul- 
-■el.  The  reel 
and  the  sand- 
II  of  "ehiiis" 
-  hut  of  water 
of  pulverized 
d  again,  until 

off  the  auger- 
n  place  of  it. 
s  round,  with 
'i  is  to  smooth 
eft  by  the  bit. 
bit  had  been 
I  as  far  down 
ul-pump  took 
id  they  were 
:e    downward 

s".,id-pump- 
ilay  —  unless 
:  machinery. 
"  in  the  rock, 

left  tlie  tools 

It  oC  the  der- 
go  fishing." 
speak  to  go." 
fish  the  tools 
.vitli  an  iron 
HI  it,  to  run 
the  well,  and 
up,  with  the 
•  fastened  to 
I  brought  it 
f  jars  tlown, 
lar,  and  then 


P  E  T  K  C)  L  1  A  . 


-y 


n 


jaried  all  the  tools  loQ,-.e,  and  brought  theni 
up.  Little  stones  got  loose,  rattled  down,  and 
wedged  in  between  the  tools  and  the  rock,  and 
this  was  one  cause  of  the  stoppage.  Some- 
times, the  boys  were  told,  men  work  for  weeks, 
and  then  can't  get  the  tools  out,  and  have  to 
abandon  the  well,  and  lose  all  they  have  done, 
and  their  tools  besides. 

Arthur  wrote  down  the  number  of  feet  they 
drilled  each  day.  Sometimes  it  would  be 
twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  in  twenty-four  hours. 
When  they  got  down  three  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet,  they  struck  the  first  sand- 
rock.  This  was  white,  and  very  hard,  so  that 
they  progressed  only  six  or  eight  feet  in  a  day. 
But  this  was  only  nine  feet  thick,  so  that  they 
were  soon  through  it,  and  in  the  softer  shale- 
rock  again* 

Occasionally  the  tools  had  to  be  sharpened 
and  tempered  over  again. 

Another  thing  that  Arthur  learned  was  how 
to  regulate  the  engine.  He  soon  was  able 
to  start  or  stop  it  by  turning  the  throttle- 
valve;  he  could  tell  when  the  water  was  right 
in  the  boiler  by  the  try-cocks,  and  knew  when 
there  was  steam  enough  by  the  steam-gauge, 
Arthur  got  so  familiar  with  these  things  that 
he  proposed  to  the  engineer  to  take  the  whole 
charge  of  the  engine,  and  let  the  engineer 
have  only  the  fires  to  attend  to.  To  this  the 
engineer  gravely  assented,  and  Arthur  was  in- 
stalled on  a  stool,  where  he  could  reach  the 
throttle-valve. 

Fred  knew  how  to  make  paper  windmills. 
He  made  a  large  number,  and  fastened  them 
all  along  the  working-beam.  The  motion  of 
the  beam  made  wind  enough  to  drive  the  mills. 
Fred's  flag  and  windmills  gave  the  "  rig  "  quite 
a  fantastic  appearance ;  everybody  noticed 
'hem,  and  soon  began  to  call  that  the  "  Flag- 
iind-Windmill  Well,"  and  this  was  the  name  it 
was  known  by  ever  afterwards. 

Fred  and  Arthur  made  themselves  so  useful, 
and  became  such  favorites  with  the  men,  that 
one  day  Mr.  Bowers  told  uncle  Charley  that 
he  thought  the  boys  ought  to  be  given  an  in- 
terest in  the  well.  Uncle  Charley  smiled,  and 
said,  "Well,  I  will  give  Arthur  the  first  ten 
and  Fred  the  second  ten  barrels  over  each 
five  hundred  per  day,"  At  this  the  men  all 
laughed;  as  no  well  on  that  tract  had  yet 
gone  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  barrels,  they 
thought  uncle  Charley's  otTer  rather  a  joke  on 
the  boys.  One  of  the  men  asked  Fred  how 
much  he  would  take  for  a  sixteenth  of  his  in- 
terest. It  proved  something  better  than  a 
joke,  however,  in  the  end. 

One  day,  after  the_\  had  gone  below  the  first 

VOL.  IX.  —  NO.  212.  13 


sand-rock,  the  boys  saw  bubbles  floating  on 
the  water,  and  mud  emptied  from  the  sand- 
pump.  "Hallo  I"  cried  Fred;  "have  you 
struck  soap-suds.'" 

The  men  said  they  had  often  heard  of  soap- 
mines,  but  never  saw  anything  nearer  it  than 
soap-.<f/o«c  in  a  well,  and  added  that  the  bub- 
bles were  gas  from  oil  veins. 

Mr.  Bowers  asked  if  they  saw  anything  else 
on  the  water.  Fred  said  he  saw  some  green 
paint. 

"That  is  oil,"  said  Mr.  Bowers. 

"Hurrah!  we've  struck  oil  I"  shouted  the 
boys;  and,  without  waiting  to  hear  more,  they 
rushed  away  to  tell  the  operators  at  the  neigh- 
boring wells,  some  of  whom  had  repeatedly 
declared  that  the  "  Flag-and-Windmill  Well" 
would  never  produce  anything  dui  flags  and 
windmills  —  not  even  gas  enough  to  blow 
them. 

Some  of  these  men  tried  to  buy  the  boys' 
interest  in  the  oil  they  were  ^rowing  over,  but 
the  boys  r      '■■vely  declined  to  name  a  price. 

They  s„  .1  found,  however,  that  all  gas  and 
oil  found  above  the  "third  sand"  does  not 
amouiit  to  anything,  and  only  constitutes  what 
oil-men  call  "a  show." 

At  the  depth  of  five  hundred  and  thirty  feel 
they  struck  the  second  sand,  ten  teet  thick,  and 
then  the  pump  came  up  nearly  full  of  oil. 

When  they  had  gone  down  six  hundred  and 
fifty  leet  they  reached  the  third  sand.  This 
rock  consists  of  many  little  white  pebbles, 
from  a  very  small  size  to  as  large  as  a  pea. 
Fred  said  these  pebbles,  mixed  with  the  dark 
oil,  looked  like  pea-nut  candy.  The  rock  wa^ 
very  hard,  which  the  men  said  indicated  that 
good  oil  would  be  found  there,  if  any.  The 
drill  went  down  slowly;  gas  puffed  and  whis- 
tled in  the  well,  and  the  sand-pump  brought 
out  more  and  more  stronger  "shows"  every 
time.  Uncle  Charley  and  their  father  were 
there  all  the  time  now,  night  and  day,  and 
drillers  were  constantly  coming  from  other 
wells  to  see  what  encouragement  there  was 
for  ///em. 

Uncle  Charley  directed  the  men  to  keep 
their  lanterns  at  a  distance  from  the  hole,  and 
ordered  pails  of  water  to  be  constantly  stand- 
ing in  the  engine-house. 

"  What  is  that  for.'  "  the  boys  asked. 

"  So  the  gas  shall  not  take  fire,"  said  their 
uncle.  "Sometimes  the  drill  opens  a  cavern 
filled  with  gas  and  oil,  and  they  rush  up  sud- 
denly; if  the  gas  takes  fire,  and  the  oil  catches, 
there  is  no  stopping  it.  A  few  years  ago  a 
well  commenced  to  spout,  and  the  gas  spread 
so  that   it   took    fire   from  the  fire-box  of  an 


3° 


P  E  T  R  O  L  I  A  . 


r 


engine  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  distant,  be- 
fore the  men  could  run  there  to  put  the  fire 
out.  Tiie  gis  nnd  oil  filled  the  air  so  sudden- 
ly with  flames  that  thirty  men  were  burned  to 
death.  It  was  several  days  before  the  fire 
could  be  put  out.  On  the  Alleghany  there  is 
a  well  which  has  been  burning  six  or  seven 
years;   it  lights  up  all  the  country  round." 

Slowly  they  worked  through  the  third  sand. 
Fifteen,  twenty,  twenty-five,  thirty,  thirty- 
five,  thirtv-six,  thirty-seven  feet,  Arthur  had 
put  down  in  his  "  log-book."  He  was  writing 
this  when  he  heard  Mr.  Bowers  shout,  — 

"  S/ie  don  t  jar  !    S/ic's  struck  !  " 

Arthur  ran  into  the  derrick.  The  drill  rose 
and  fell  without  striking  bottom.  It  was  play- 
ing in  a  cavity.  The  men  instantly  ran  to  put 
out  the  fire  under  the  boiler;  all  pipes  and 
cigars  were  ordered  out.  A  noise  came  from 
the  well  like  wind  rushing  through  a  knot- 
hole. 

The  news  of  the  strike  had  si)read,  and 
hundreds  of  excited  men  were  hurrying  to 
the  "  Flag-and- Windmill  Well."  Fred  and 
Arthur  climbed  a  little  way  up  the  ladder  of 
the  derrick  to  see.  A  good  many  men  also 
stood  on  the  cross-pieces  and  braces  of  the 
derrick,  to  get  a  better  view  at  the  critical 
moment  when  the  tools  should  be  drawn. 

■•lla\e  you  got  steam  enough  let't  to  raise 
the  tools. ■'"  shouted  Mi-.  Uowers. 

"  I  guess  so,"  responded  the  engineer. 

But  t.iey  didn't  need  the  steam,  for  the  bull- 
wheel  had  but  fairly  commenced  to  wind  the 
tools  up,  when  the  cable  suddenly  ran  slack, 
and  the  bull-wheel,  relieved  of  the  weight  of 
the  tools,  spun  round  like  a  top. 

Uncle  Charley,  pale  with  excitement,  cried, 
loudly,  "  Look  out,  look  out,  men  '.  The  tools 
are  coming  up  alone." 

The  men  all  ran  out  of  the  derrick ;  the 
bo3's  jumped  off  the  ladder,  and  ran  with 
them. 

They  had  hardly  ^ot  down  before  the  tools 
shot  up  out  of  the  well,  as  if  discharged  from 
a  mortar,  sending  the  pulley-wheel  spinning 
high  above  the  derrick  top.  A  loud  report, 
like  that  of  a  columbiad,  followed,  with  a  con- 
cussion which  shook  the  ground  as  if  by  an 
earthquake,  and  knocked  some  of  the  nearest 
men  prostrate. 

A  stream  of  water,  gas,  and  oil,  the  full  size 
of  the  hole,  spouted  up  nearly  to  the  top  of 
the  derrick,  with  a  roar  louder  than  steam 
from  the  'scape-pipe  of  a  steamer.  The  roof 
of  the  shed  was  blown  avva^',  the  boards  flying 
like  leaves  in  a  pale. 

Men  ran  quickly  to  put  out  the  fires  at  all 


the  wells  and  shanties  near.  Oil  and  watei 
were  now  running  down  the  hill-side  in  little 
torrents.  Other  men  began  with  shovels  to 
throw  up  a  dam  to  stop  the  oil.  The  roar  of 
the  well  and  the  shouts  of  the  men  made 
grt    .  confusion. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  excitement,  and 
phenomena  of  nature,  Arthur  and  Fred,  boy- 
like, were  perfectly  cool.  Arthur  crowded  his 
way  forward  to  where  his  uncle  was  working 
as  if  for  dear  life,  under  a  fountain  of  water 
and  oil,  and,  after  much  elfort,  succeeded  in 
attracting  his  attention.  And  this  was  what 
he  shouted  :  — 

"Uncle  Charley,  uncle  Charley!  Will  you 
tell  us  as  soon  as  yoitr  five  hundred  barrels 
have  got  out,  'cause  Fred  and  I  want  to  build 
a  dam  to  catch  our  oil  I  " 

The  men  all  laughed  at  Arthur's  prompt- 
ness to  look  after  his  interest,  and  said,  "  That 
boy  will  make  a  great  'operator'  one  of  these 
days." 

"I  guess  your  interest  will  be  good  for 
something,  after  all."  said  Mr.  Bowers;  "for 
the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  is  good  for  one 
tfiOHsand  barrets  a  day,  at  least." 

"Then  we'll  get  twenty  barrels  apiece  each 
day,"  »aid  Arthur  to  Fred.  "Ain't  you  glad 
we  dug  the  well  now.  Fred.''" 


1 


\ 


1 


1 


PETROL!  A. 


3» 


il  and  watei 
side  in  little 
1  shovels  to 
The  roar  of 
men  made 

tement,  and 
1  Fred,  boy- 
crowded  his 
,vas  working 
lin  of  water 
ucceeded  in 
lis  was  what 

!  Will  you 
ired  barrels 
■ant  to  build 

ir's  prompt- 
said,  "That 
)ne  of  these 

le  good  for 
jwers ;  "  for 
ood  for  one 

apiece  each 
I't  you  glad 


r 


u 


PART     II. 


BOATING   OIL. -"POND   FHESHET8." 


HE  owners  of  tlie  Flu'^-and- 
Windniill  Well   found   that,  1 
Uroat  us  had  been  their  la-  , 
hor,  expense,  and  anxiety  in  j 
fnuliiii,'the  oil,  their  >,'reatcst 
ta^k  was  yet  to  come.     They 
had     secured     the     coveted 
treasure  in  sueh  pi.  "liijious", 
quantities,  ami  so  unexpectedly,  that,  like  the 
man   who   houi,dU  an   elephant,   they  did   not 
know  how  to  provide  for  it.     There  it  was;  a 
roariiiij,    foamin;,'  fountain,    spoutinj;,    like   a 
wounded  whale,  lifly  feet  lu'^h.  fillinj^  the  air 
with  yellow  spray,  hreakinij  into  many  colors, 
and  forinin'j;  wonderful   rainbows  in  the  sun, 
and  delui;ini{  r  jres  with  oily  wealth  ;   and  no 
means  at  hand   to   secure  it.     Their   troubles 
were  similar  to  those  of  the  old  woman  who 
lived  in  the  slioe  :   they  had  so  much  oil  they 
"  didn't  know  wlu  t  to  do." 

The  dams  which  they  beijan  to  throw  up.  to 
stop  its  running  away  down  the  mountain, 
saved  but  a  part  of  it;  luuulrcds  of  bairels 
ran  to  waste.  I'art  of  that  which  poured  in 
little  torrents  down  the  steep  hill  was  lost  en- 
tirelv.  Some  of  it  men  and  boys  caught  in 
little  dams  liefore  it  reached  the  creek,  and 
dipped  up  into  barrels,  whicli  they  brought 
for  that  purpose.  In  this  way  they  earned,  or 
gained,  from  ten  to  forty  dollars  a  day  each. 

Nearly  all  the  oil  produced  by  *he  Flag-and- 
Windmill  Well  for  several  days  would  h:ive 
been  lost  but  lor  the  kindness  of  tlie  owners 
of  small  wells  near  it.  They  olVered  uncle 
Charley  the  use  of  their  oil  tanks  until  he 
could  construct  tanks  of  his  own.  Tiie  boys 
learned  that,  although  oil  operators  are  Very 
eager  in  pursuit  of  wealth,  and  most  of  them 
seem  to  be  pretty  rough  men,  yet  they  were  at 
heart  kind  and  generous  towards  others,  as 
this  olTer  to  uncle  Charley  proved. 

Uncle  Charley  gratefully  accepted  the  use 
of  the  tanks  I'or  a  tlay  or  two.  Ilis  men  laid 
lines  of  iron  pipe  —  of  wliich  ti.cv  bad  a  large 
supply,  provided  beforehand  —  from  the  little 
pond  of  oil  around  the  well  to  two  or  three  of 
the  nearest  tanks.  As  soon  as  this  was  done, 
and  the  storage  for  part  of  the  oil  temporarily 
provided,  imcle  Charley,  with  men  and  teams, 
startetl  after  tank-  of  his  own.  They  went  to 
a  tract  not  far  olV,  where  there  were  several 
wells  that  had  ceased  to  3'ield  oil,  and  been 
abandoned,  with  their  "  rigs."  engines,  tanks, 
&c.     Uncle  Charlev  bought  five  of  these  aban- 


doned tanks,  very  cheap.  Such  tanks  are 
built  of  wooden  staves,  like  a  tub,  with  im- 
mense iron  hoops;  some  of  them  are  fifteen 
feet  high,  and  thirty  feet  across;  others  are 
smaller,  and  some  even  larger. 

The  men  knockeil  the  iioops  off.  took  liown 
the  staves  and  bottom-boards,  anil  loaded  all 
on  the  wagons.  Hy  working  that  day  and  all 
night,  they  gut  the  tanks  all  removed,  and  set 
up  again  near  the  Flag-and-Windinill  Well, 
ready  lor  use  at  d.ayligbt  next  morning.  Thus 
thev  had  to  use  the  borrowed  tanks  only  one 
day  and  one  night. 

While  this  was  going  on,  uncle  Charley  bad 
sent  Arthur  (whom  be  had  found  he  could 
trust  with  important  business)  to  Titusville  to 
order  some  more  piiie.  stop-cocks,  a  •'  goose- 
neck," and  other  things  needed  at  the  well. 
When  Fred  heard  the  directions  given  to  Ar- 
thur, he  made  the  same  mistake  as  when  he 
first  heard  the  drillers  talk  about  jars:  he  con- 
ckuied  the  "  goose-neck  "  was  something  good 
to  eat.  (joing  quietly  around  to  uncle  Char- 
ley's side,  he  asked,  "Can't  Arthur  just  as 
well  get  tiu-kcy?  I  like  that  better  than  goose." 
Uncle  Charley  was  not  too  busy  to  laugh  at 
this,  although  he  -I'as  too  busy  to  explain  the 
dilTerence.  When  Arthur  returned  at  night 
with  the  goose-neck,  Fred  thouglit,  more  than 
ever,  that  he  preferretl  turkey ;  for  the  goose- 
neck was  only  a  crooked  piece,  or  elbow,  of 
large  iron  pipe.  This  was  to  be  screwed  on  the 
top  of  the  drive-pipe  in  the  well,  and  thus  cause 
the  stream  of  oil  to  turn  aside  into  the  tank. 

But  how  to  put  it  on  was  the  question.  The 
rats  had  no  trouble  to  get  a  bell;  they  were 
only  puzzled  to  get  it  put  on  the  cat's  neck. 
The  goose-neck  could  not  have  been  very  well 
put  on  tluring  the  fn-st  two  days,  while  the 
powerful  jet  was  spouting.  The  men  at  first 
tried  to  stop  the  stream  entirely:  that  is.  to 
hold  the  cat  still  while  the  bell  was  being 
put  on.  They  tried  to  do  it  in  this  way:  they 
took  down  the  ponderous  working-beam,  and 
as  manv  men  as  could  take  hold  of  it  at  the 
ends  threw  it  over  the  mouth  of  the  well,  and 
tried  to  hold  it  there.  Ine  oil  and  water 
spirted  and  sprayed  a  hundred  feet  out  each 
side,  making  the  crowil  of  spectators  scatter 
as  the  boys  bad  seen  a  crowd  do  at  home, 
when  the  firemen  in  sport  would  turn  on  it 
a  stream  from  the  fire-engine.  The  working- 
beam,  heavy  as  it  was,  was  ^ent  flying  like  a 
chip,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  twenty  men  to 
hold  it  down  '  'le  well ;  and  the  men  them- 
selves were  h  :^  in  every  direction,  as  if 
they  were  mer  -r,  %■  ,  s.  They  crept  out  of 
the  deluge  of  oiiiuiu 'water,  looking  like  so 
manv  mice   who   had    fallen   into   a  Kettle  of 


3- 


P  E  T  R  O  L  1  A  . 


>;rcasc.  Tliat  way  of  bcllini;  tlie  cat  wasn't  a 
success,  except  as  an  amusement  to  tlie  look- 
ers on. 

After  two  or  three  davs,  liowever,  tlie  well 
Keemeil  to  abate  its  fury  somewhat.  Then  it 
benan  to  put  on  another  curious  apjiearance. 
It  uraihially  cliani,'eil  from  a  steady  tlow  to  an 
interrupleii.  spasmodic  action.  For  a  few  mo- 
iTients  it  would  spout  with  as  ^reat  fury  as 
ever;  then  it  would  i,'radually  sink  away; 
then,  after  a  few  moments  of  subsidence,  in- 
crease in  violence  au;ain. 

When  the  boys  first  noticed  this,  they  be- 
came alarmed  for  their  oil  interests,  thinkini' 
the  well  ••  was  goin;;  to  tlie"  as  Fred  ex- 
pressed it.  IJut  when  they  saw  it  each  time 
revive,  and  show  as  much  enerify  as  ever,  they 
became  reassured  as  to  its  \  itality. 

These  jKriods  of  subsidence  became  more 
marked  each  time,  until,  in  its  quieter  mo- 
ments,   the    well    spouted    no    higher   than    a 


Uncle  Charley  decided  that  the  quickest  way 
to  f^et  the  oil  o(T  their  hands  and  into  market 


man's  heatl.  In  one  of  thc-e  sleepy  moments  \  ^yas  by  runnint;  it  into  boats  in  the  creek, 
of  the  spoutin<f  monster  they  succeeded  in  '  and  sending  it  to  Oil  City,  on  the  Alleghany 
screwing  on  the  },'()ose-neck.  and  attachin;^  j  River,  at  the  mouth  of  Oil  Creek.  There 
the  pipe  to  it  and  the  tanks.  Now  they  had  !  were  |>leiify  of  men  there  ready  to  buy  the 
the  monster  under  control.  |  oil  for  shipment  down   the  river  to  Pittsburjj. 

In  about  five  minutes  the  well  commenced  At  that  time  the  railroad,  *o  far  as  completed, 
to  raye  aijain  :  aiul,  as  if  angered  at  being  was  too  far  olT,  at  its  nearest  point,  to  alTord  a 
conipiered,  it  seemed  to  spout  with  greater  quick  and  easy  outlet  to  market, 
fury  than  ever.  It  roared  and  foamed  in  the  j  ()il  Creek  is  a  broad,  shallow  stream.  At 
tank,  shaking;  the  tub.  anil  making  the  ground  I  its  ordinary  stage,  flat-boats  and  barges,  of 
tremble  in  its  violence;  the  contents  of  the  light  draught,  can  be  t(. wed  up  against  its  cur- 
tub  were  stirred  and  churned  until  it  was  rent  by  horses  walking  in  the  middle  of  the 
nearly   filled   with   yellow   foam.  stream.     It  was  severe  labor,  and  working  in 

Fred  exercised  his  inclination  for  compari-  |  the  water  soon  took  the  hair  otT  the  (loor  aiii- 
sons '.)y  calling  the  tank  '■the  giant's  cup  of  nials'  legs,  and  in  a  very  short  time  killed 
soda-water."    imagining    the    well    to   be    the  '  them. 

giant,  and  himself  the  little  Jack-of-the-bean-  Uncle  Charley  and  the  boys  went  down  to 
stalk  who  had  chained  it.  One  of  the  men  the  creek  to  hire  two  boats  to  load  with  their 
said  it  "  looked  more  like  all  Dutchlan'"s  mug  oil  —  for  Arthur  and  Fred  were  keeping  close 
of  lager  bier."  Each  one  used  the  figure  he  watch  on  ///(■;>  inter  st  in  the  product  of  the 
was  most  familiar  with.  well.   They  soon  found  two  large,  tlat-bottomed 

Their  troubles  antl  labors  were  not  ended  boats,  and  hired  them.  The  owner  said  lie'd 
with  the  completion  of  the  tanks.  A  well  carry  their  oil  to  Oil  City  'M'or  fifty  cents  — 
pouring  out  a  thousand  barrels  a  d.ay  would  owner's  risk."  This.  Arthur  explained  to 
soon  fill  all  the  tanks  in  the  neighborhood,  Fred,  meant  he'd  make  the  trip  for  as  much 
and  then  they  would  be  in  the  s.ame  old-  as  fifty  cents  a  barrel  would  come  to;  but.  if 
woman-in-the-shoe  fix  again.  Thev  must  be-  the  oil  got  lost,  the  boatman  would  not  be  re- 
gin  immediately  to  empty  the  tanks,  sponsible;    it   would  be  their  loss,    and   they 

The  tanks  were  connected  by  pipes,  so  that  would  have  to  pay  for  the  use  of  the  boats 
when  one  was  full  it  would  overfiow  into  just  the  same  as  if  the  oil  were  delivered  salV- 
another.  Near  the  bottom  of  each  tank  was  ly.  Fred  didn't  like  this  bargain,  and  insjsteil 
a  faucet,  by  which  the  water  could  be  drawn  that  the  boatman  should  get  nothing  if  he 
out  from  under  the  oil,  leaving  only  the  latter  didn't  carry  the  oil  through  all  right.  The 
in  the  tank.  The  boys  saw^  tli.?.t  the  ditVerent  boatman  said.  '-Very  well,  my  little  man; 
gravity  of  the  two  fluids  n.-,  tl-  t'"-'  process  a\'  pay  me  sirvn/y-/i:T  cents  per  barrel,  and  I'll 
separating    them,  —  which     .iiey    had    ;uitici-     guarantee  delivery." 

pated  would  he  a  very  diflicult  one. —  after  ■■What  do  you  say.  boys?"  askei'  uncle 
all.  very  simple.  i  Charley.      '■  Shall    we   pay  twenty-five  cents 


: 


f 


OATS. 

i 

quickest  wav 

into  iiiarl^ft 

f 

n   tlio  creek. 

le  Allejjhanv 

reek.    There 

; 

•   to  buy  the 

f 

to  Pittsburg. 

s  completed. 

t.  to  atVorii  a 

stream.     At 

^ 

1    barges,  of 

•liiist  its  cur- 

iiitlle  of  the 

working  in 

he  poor  aiii- 

time  kiileii 

a^nt  down  to 

ul  witli  their 

eeping  close 

oduct  of  the 

at-bottomed 

" 

er  said  he'd 

fifty  cents  — 

xplained    to 

or  as  much 

J  to;  but.  if 

d  not  be  re- 
s.   and  tliey 

■m 

of  the  boats 

livered  safe- 

and  iusisteti 

)thing    if  lie 

right.     The 

little   man; 

rel,  and  Til 

askei'    uncle 

v-five   cents 

h. 

\ 

■z) 


> 

-a 
c 

■X 


S3 

75 


u 


P  F,  T  R  O  L I  A . 


35 


^a 


more  on  the  liarrtl,  or  run  our  own  ri-k.  anti 
save  that  much  if  we  yet  throuj{h  all  rifjht. 
Rcnicinbcr  that  the  extra  price  does  not  in- 
sure us  against  loss  of  oil.  If  we  agree  to 
pa\  -eventv-(ive  cents,  an<l  the  oil  is  lost,  we 
shall  have  no  freight-hill  to  pav  ;  the  hoatinan 
will  lose  his  trip,  and  we'll  lose  our  oil  onlv. 
He  charges  the  twentv-five  cents  extra  for  run- 
nin.;  thai  risk." 

.\>  the  three  proprietors  of  the  oil  did  not 
auree  as  to  the  best  plan  of  shipping,  they 
acl()|)ted  holli  ways.  On  one  ho«t  tliey  agreed 
to  pay  lifty  cents  a  barrel,  whether  it  went 
through  safely  or  not;  on  the  other  boat  they 
agreed  to  pay  seventy-five  cents  a  barrel  if  it 
went  tlirough,  or  nothing  if  it  was  wrecked. 

The  boats  were  towed  up  li>  a  point  on  the 
creek  opposite  the  Flag-and-\\'indniiil  Well, 
and  moored  by  strong  cables  to  the  bank. 
The  boats  were  about  otic  hundred  feet  long, 
eighteen  I'eet  wide,  and  twenty  inches  deep. 
The  ends  were  square.  The  spuce  in  them 
was  divided  into  compartments,  and  covered 
over  tight  with  boards.  It  was  thus  divided 
up,  the  hoys  learned,  so  that  the  oil  would 
carry  more  steadily.  If  the  oil  were  put  in 
one  ma»s  into  the  broad,  sliallow  boat,  it 
woidd  get  to  swaying  anil  rolling,  and  finally 
upset  the  boat  —  the  same  mishap  they  had 
often  experienced  on  a  smaller  scale  when 
trving  to  carry  a  shall  vv  dish  of  water  or 
other  liquid. 

The  boys  learned  that  tlat-boats  are  built 
on  the  streams  that  form  the  headwaters  of 
the  Alleghany,  where  lumber  is  plenty.  They 
are  loaded  with  shingles,  turniture,  and  other 
merchandise,  and  floated  down  on  high  water, 
to  be  sold  along  the  river.  When  empty  they 
are  used  as  oil  boats.  These  two  were  built 
away  up  in  "York  .State,"  near  Chatauqua 
Lake,  almost  up  to  Lake  Erie.  Arthur  had 
learned  that  the  waters  of  the  Alleghany, 
which  finally  empty  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
•  start  near  the  same  point  where  the  waters 
spring  wl-.ich  go  into  Lake  Erie  and  thence 
empty  into  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence;  that 
only  a  narrow  ridge  at  tirst  divides  the  drops 
of  water,  which  in  the  end  reach  the  ocean  so 
many  thousand  miles  apart. 

As  the  land  on  which  the  Flag-and-Windmill 
Well  was  sunk  was  leased,  not  purchased,  by 
uncle  Charley,  the  oil  did  not  all  belong  to 
him  and  the  boys.  The  owner  of  the  farm 
was  entitled  t<i  one  half  of  all  the  oil  as  his 
share  for  the  use  of  the  land.  This  is  called 
the  owner's  '•  royalty."  This  term,  their  fa- 
ther told  them,  came  froin  the  tax  put  upon 
all    lands,   mines,  &:c  ,   in   couiUries   ruled  by 


FiLLINO  THE  BOAI  S. 

roval  governors;  they  claim  to  own  all  the 
land,  and  charge  f'lr  the  use  of  it.  This 
charue  or  tax  was  called  the  right  of  royalty, 
or  the  king's  share.  In  this  country  each 
laiul-nwiier  is  king  of  his  own  estate,  ami  he 
has  the  right  of  royally  in  the  land. 

The  owner  of  this  farm  decided  to  send  his 
share,  or  royalty,  of  the  oil  to  market  at  the 
same  time;  so  that  three  boats  were  loaded 
from  uncle  Charley's  tanks.  The  loadingwas 
done  bv  screwing  iron  pipe  to  the  faucets  in  the 
tanks,  and  exleniling  the  pipe  down  to  the 
boats;  when  the  faucets  were  opened  the  boats 
were  very  quickly  loaded. 

Now  the  boys  were  impatient  to  see  the 
teams  hitched  on  and  the  boats  start.  They 
were,  as  usual,  too  fast.  The  boatman  told 
them  there  was  not  enough  water  in  the  creek 
to  tloat  the  loaded  boats  down. 

"Sure  enough  the  boa!  are  aground  now! 
How  arc  we  going  to  get  otl".' "  inquired  Ar- 
thur, anxiously. 

"  Wait  for  a  pond  freshet,"  replied  the  boat- 
man. 

"  A  fond  freshet  f  What  is  that  ?  When  is 
it  coming.'     Where  is  it  coming  from.'" 

These  questions  were  all  asked  at  once,  by 
both  of  the  boys  together,  without  giving  the 
boatman  time  to  answer  one  of  them. 

In  answer  they  learned  that  in  low  water  an 
artificial  rise  of  the  stream  was  secured  by  hir- 
ing the  mill-owners  above  to  let  the  water  out 
of  their  dams.  The  upper  dams  on  Oil  Creek, 
and  the  smaller  streams  which  empty  into 
it,  were  first  let  oft",  and  all  the  water  in  them 
collected  in  the  last  and  largest  dam.  Then, 
at  a  given  hour,  the  "  slash-boards  "  of  the  big 
dam  are  cut,  and  the  accumulated  flood  let  out 
all  pt  once.     On  this  flood  all  the  boats  loaded 


■V' 


3^' 


P  E  T  R  O  L I  A . 


Staktinc  with    iiik  •■  I'kkshi 


I    > 


witll  oil  aloniT  lliu  iivck  tloateil  down  to  Oil 
City.  At  till'  Mime  liim-  tin*  o\viU'i>  nl  iliu 
mills  would  lloattlii-ir  lumbLT  ilowii  to  luaiki't. 
Soiiu'tiiii.  -  a  tlioii>aiiil  iiari  we'iit  down  on  a 
sinuli'  ■■  pond  iVt'^li." 

'•  WIkii  is  tliL'  next  iioiui  fic-h  romiiii;!*" 
till.'  boys  uskod.  at'lor  listciiiii'^  i'ai;orlv  to  this 
account. 

"  In  a  day  or  two  \Vc  iisualh-  liavo  two  a 
week."  was  the  lepl;. 

It  was  -n.  That  very  day.  the  man  who 
superintended  the  pond  freshets  eame  aloii'^' 
the  erec'k  to  i;ive  notice  that  tin-  lower  dam 
wouKi  he  cut  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  lorenoon. 
lie  also  eollected  some  money  from  the  boat- 
owners  to  help  pav  the  cost  of  huyim^  the 
water  of  llie  mill-owners. 

■•  Now."  s;iid  uncle  Charlev.  "do  you  ho\s 
want  to  ritle  down  to  Oil  City  on  horses,  and 
see  the  lleet  of  boats  and  rafts  come  in?  Or 
tlo  you  preter  to  ride  down  on  the  boats  with 
the  freslKt .'  There  is  a  '{ood  deal  of  excite- 
ment and  considerable  danger  in  making;  the 
voya,;;e." 

This  last  consideration  decided  the  hovs  im- 
media'tely  in  favor  of  ,1,'oin,^  hv  boat  :  the  "  dan- 
ger "  was  the  very  thitm  they  had  the  j,'reatest 
curiosity  to  see.  It  was  finally  arranged  that 
Arthur  and  hi  father  should  go  down  by  the 
boat,  and  I-^red  and  his  uncle  go  down  by 
laiul.  I'ncle  Charley  told  his  brother  how  to 
manage  with  Arthur  in  ca.se  of  a  smash-up. 


There  were  always  plentv  of  ihances  tf)  jump 
on  the  other  boats,  which  tilled  the  i  reek  at 
such  times. 

Karly  next  dav  the  boats  were  made  ready 
for  the  llood.  The  covers  to  the  oil-bunks 
were  fastened  down.  The  huL;i.'  steering  oars, 
forty  teet  long,  were  hung  on  llicir  pins  at 
each  enii  ol'  llie  bouts;  the\'  projected  out  he- 
lore  and  behind,  like  long  wings.  Uesides  the 
oars,  there  were  long  setting-poles  to  pusli  the 
boat  along  with  in  ileep.  still  water,  and  hand- 
spikes to  ))ry  otT  the  boat  when  it  sticks  fast, 
to   do   which    the    men    had    to  iump    into   the 

,  stream  to  work. 

.\ll  was   readv  bet'ore  ten.     Two  men   stood 

I  at  each  oar;  the  i>ilol  stooil  near  the  stern, 
and  .\rthur  and  his  lather  sat  on  two  oil- 
barrels,  near  the  centre  of  the  boat  —  ;dl  wait- 
ing the  coming  tlood.  Work  had  been  siis- 
jiended  at  all  wells  on  the  creek,  and  the  oil 
operators  and  tlie  people  from  the  country 
around  came  down  to  witness  the  exciting 
SI. 'lies,  I'ond-fresh-days  were  general  holi- 
days;  in   faet,  almost   the  only   play-iiays  the 

'  IJiisy  oil  men  had.  The  hank  was  lined  with 
s|iectators  :d!  idong  the  creek. 

Ten  o'clock   hail   passed  by  but  a  few  mo- 

I  ments  when  a  low.  distant  mm-mm-  was  heard, 

I  like  the  subdued  roarof  a  far-olV  railway  train. 

i  "She's  coming  I"  said  the  pilot.  "Some 
of  you   men   on    the   shore   there   stand   by  to 

i  cast  off  our  cableu." 


m 


P  E  T  R  O  L  I  A . 


37 


Thk  Collision. 


anc\'s  to  niin|) 
I  tin-  I  iTik  at 

0  niiulc  i\':i(lv 
tlii;  ()il-I)imks 
stc'crinij  oars, 
llicir  pins  at 
iJL'ctcd  <iul  1k'- 
••  IK'sick's  tlie 
es  to  |>iisli  the 
'.^•y.  ami  liaiul- 
it  -ticks  last, 
inn|)    inui    tliu 

VI)  nu'ii   stood 

ar  the  stern. 

oil    two    r)il. 

■  at  —  all  wait- 

lail   liL'cn   siis- 

^.  aiul  the  oil 

the  country 

the   exeitin:^ 

general   holi- 

|)lav-tia_vs  the 

a-  lined  with 

III  a  lew  nio- 
iir  was  heard, 
railway  train, 
ilot.  '•.Some 
stand   by  to 


They  untied  the  cables  from  the  trees,  and  a 
m.in  stood  holdini;  an  end  of  each,  still  keep- 
ing it  wound  around  the  tree. 

The  roar  ot'  the  cominji  tlood  increased  rap- 
idly, and  soon  shouts  were  heard  from  the 
people  up  the  creek.  Then  Arthur  saw  what 
looked  like  a  wall  of  water  as  hiijh  as  a  ma,i"s 
head,  filling  the  channel  from  bank  to  bank, 
roaring  like  a  cataract,  white  with  foam,  and 
rushing  rapidly.  Its  crest  was  coven-d  with 
boards,  sticks,  slabs,  oyster-kegs,  old  barrels, 
and  i.ll  the  litter  of  saw-mills,  oil-diggings, 
and  oil-towns  up  the  creek,  including  the  car- 
casses of  horses  killed  by  hard  usage.  Hack 
of  these  they  could  see  the  glitter  of  the  sweep- 
ing oars  of  the  boats  and  rafts,  already  riding 
the  wave;  and,  above  the  roar  of  lu-hing 
waters,  they  could  hear  the  sb.outs  of  the 
pilots,  and  the  yells  of  the  excited  spectr.tors. 

Arthur  never  will  forget  the  scene  a,',  the 
moment  when  the  wave  sei  med  to  be  coming 
down  on  their  heads.  His  lieart  first  stood 
still,  then  filled  liis  throat  with  a  choking  sen- 
sation. But,  in  fr.;:t,  the  wave  was  not  nearly 
as  large  as  it  looked,  and  the  real  dang>;r 
was  not  of  its  overwhelming  them.  When  it 
reached  the  boats  it  lilted  them  like  chips. 
As  the  stern  climbed  the  wave  first,  tlic  bow 
dipped  low,  sinking  the  forward  oarsmen  to 
their  knees  in  water.  When  the  fiood  was 
fairly  under  them,  the  pilot  cried,  ••  Cast  off'." 
The   cables   were    let  go,   and    the    oarsmen 


pulled  the  boat  out  from  the  banks.  In  work- 
ing the  oars  they  walked  entirelv  across  the 
boat,  pushing  the  stem  of  the  oar  before  them, 
raised  so  that  the  blade  would  dip;  then  they 
would  run  back  tpiickly.  carrying  the  stem 
near  the  deck,  and  the  bhule  out  of  water. 

They  were  now  shooting  rapidly  down  with 
the  fleet.  Other  boats  pulled  out  and  joined 
them  every  minute.  Constant  care  was  ne- 
cessary to  keep  the  boats  from  "  fouling  "  with 
each  other.  Where  there  was  a  bend  in  the 
channel  the  oarsmen  had  to  pull  lively"  to 
keep  ofT  the  outside  bank  '.  le  cur\e.  The 
mountains  along  shore  echo  with  the  orders 
of  the  pilots  and  the  shouts  c     spectators. 

When  about  a  mile  below  the  I"'lag-and- 
Wiiulmill  Well,  a  row  of  large  ooats,  of  which 
.\rtluir's  was  one,  had  moved  up  abreast,  fill- 
ing the  channel  completely  full.  This  was 
well  enough  for  them,  but  it  proved  bad  for 
another  row  of  boats  tied  along  the  bank  be- 
low, waiting  to  start.  The  moving  boat  next 
the  shore  was  bearing  directly  down  on  these 
stationary  boats.  Its  pilot,  seeing  the  dafl- 
ger,  shouted,  ^' Left '.  Left,  all!  Give  arvay, 
lively  .' "  and  himself  ran  to  help  the  forward 
oarsmen.  It  was  no  use.  They  could  not  move 
the  whole  rank  of  boats  that  filled  the  channel 
and  crowded  against  this  one.  It  struck  the 
first  of  the  stationary  boats  with  a  crash, 
snapping  both  its  cables  like  threads,  and  set- 
ting it  loose.    The  men  on  tl-^  loosened  boat 


58 


I'ETROLIA. 


\  ■ 


Shooting  the  Bridge. 

bent  to  their  oars  to  carrv  it  out  far  enouj^fh 
to  clear  the  boat  moored  next  below;  hut  in 
vain.  It  in  turn  struck  that,  and  broke  it 
loose,  and  tlie  two  hure  down  on  those  be- 
low. 

The  men  on  the  rest  of  the  shore  boats  now 
saw  that  they  must  -jo  whether  they  were 
ready  or  not;  so  they  all  cut  their  cables,  and 
pulled  out. 

Meanwliile,  the  boat  that  llrst  struck  the 
row,  its  headway  being  stopped  a  little,  was 
cau,i,dit  in  the  rear  by  the  current,  and  whirled 
completely  around,  end  for  end.  The  men  on 
it,  when  they  saw  they  must  swing,  pulled 
with  all  their  power  to  whirl  the  boat  faster 
than  the  current,  and  thus  keep  from  being 
swamped  by  the  current  taking  them  sidewise 
and  pouring  (ner  the  low  gunwales  of  their 
boat.     They  succeeded. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  none  of  the  boats 
were  wrecked  by  this  collision.  But  some  of 
the  boats  fariliest  down,  of  'iiose  which  were 
comiielled  to  cut  loose,  were  too  far  in  advance 
of  the  /«//  /ifdd  of  the  freshet  to  be  safe.  One 
of  these  ran  along  a  few  rods,  and  then  stuck 
fast  on  a  bar  at  the  prow;  the  current  turned 
it  sidewise:  other  bo«s  came  crashing  down 
against  it;  the  water  instantly  poured  over  its 
side  and  sank  it  to  the  bottom,  and  it  was  de- 
molished and  swept  away.  The  men  in  it 
sprang  into  other  boats. 

The  three  boats  from  the  Flag-and-Windmill 
Well  were  not  in  this  jam.  As  they  passed, 
Arthur  could  see  a  confused  mass  of  timber, 
the  ruins  of  three  or  four  boats  destroyed,  bar- 
rels, loose  oil,  Sic,  scattered  on  the  stream. 

The  greatest  danger  for  all  was  vet  to  come. 
They  were  now  rapidly  ajiproaching  the  Oil 
City  Bridge,  and  Arthur  knew,  by  the  anxious 


'  faces  of  the  men,  that  the  perilous  place  was 
there.  He  began  almost  to  wish  he  was  ashore. 
When  the  bridge  came  in  sight  it  looked 
black  all  over  with  people;  the  shores  also 
were  crowded.  The  |)ilot  anxiously  scanned 
the  motions  of  the  drift-wood  ahead  of  him, 
to  see  on  which  side  of  the  "  centre  bent  "  f)r 
middle  timbers  of  the  bridge,  the  current  ran 
strongest;  so  he  could  deciile  which  of  two 
channels  to  take.  Presently  he  said.  ••  I'll 
take  the   right-hand   shoot." 

'•\\hy  don't  you  jniU  for  it,  then?"  cried 
Arthur,  in  great  alarm,  as  he  saw  the  boat 
headed  directly  for  the  timbers  of  the  bridge. 
'■If  we  jnill  too  quick  she"ll  swing  too  far. 
^\■e  want  to  strike  the  right-hand  current  with 
the  boat  on  the  swing,  and  let  the  current 
help  us  I"  exclaimed  the  pilot. 

At  that  moment  Arthur  spied  Fred  and 
uncle  Charley  on  the  bridge  waving  their 
bats  to  him.  Arthur  responded  vigorouslv. 
When  they  were  almost  to  the  bridge,  and 
.\rthur  had  given  up  all  hope  of  the  boat 
clearing  the  timbers,  the  i)ilot  suddenly  yelled, 
'■  /i' /{,■■///!  "  The  men  gave  three  cpuck.  pow- 
erful strokes  to  the  oar:,;  the  boat  veered  slow- 
ly to  the  right,  not  enough  to  clear.  .She  will 
strike  I  No;  tl'.e  current  takes  her.  and  swings 
her  easily  over.  She  just  clears  the  timliers, 
and  shoots,  with  a  rush  and  a  splash,  past  the 
big  brace  and  under  the  bridge,  safe  and 
clear '. 

The  crowd  cheered  loudly,  again  and  again, 
over  this  skilful  handling  of  the  boat,  in 
which  Fred  and  Arthur  joined  with  all  their 
might. 

.\rthiM-  looked  back,  and  saw  how  the  boat 
wouKl  have  fared  if  the  pilot  had  steered  as 
//f  wanted  him  to.  The  next  boat  behind 
them  began  to  pull  over  too  soon.  As  its 
head  took  the  right-hand  current,  the  counter 
current  on  the  other  side  struck  its  stern.  It 
began  to  swing  around  sidewise.  and  in  one 
minute  it  was  hurled  across  the  shelving  brace 
of  the  bridge  with  a  crash  !  It  bent  and  hung 
there,  high  up  on  the  brace,  like  a  pair  of 
saddle-bags,  emjitving  the  cargo  out  into  the 
stream.  The  crew  ran  to  the  middle  and 
clambered  up  the  timbers,  and  were  pulled  on 
the  bridge  by  the  people  above. 

The  next  boat  struck  this,  and  the  next,  and 
the  next.  Some  pulled  over  far  enough  to  es- 
cape under  the  bridge;  more  went  into  the 
jam.  Boats  and  rafts  were  piled  on  each 
other  in  the  wildest  i;onfusion.  Crash  !  smash  ! 
they  came :  endwise,  sidewise,  every  way. 
Water  roared  and  tore  over  the  wrecks.  The 
black,  odorous  oil  was  sent  flying  in  every  di- 


JL. 


PETROLIA. 


39 


•iloiis  ])lace  was 
I  he  was  ashore, 
sight  it  looked 
the  shores  also 
ciously  scanned 
i  ahead  of  him, 
centre  bent  "  or 
tlie  current  ran 
;  whi(  h  of  two 
lie    said,    ••ril 

t,  then  .'  "  cried 
."  saw  the  boat 
s  of  the  hridj^e. 
swing  too  far. 
nd  cm-rent  with 
let   the   current 

tied  Fred  and 
;  waving  their 
led  vigorouslv. 
he  Ijridge,  and 
le  of  tlie  boat 
udtlenlv  veiled, 
•ee  quick,  pow- 
at  veered  slow- 
lear.  She  will 
ler.  and  swings 
rs  the  tiniliers, 
plash,  past  the 
idge.    safe    and 

:ain  and  again, 

the   boat,    in 

with  all    their 

'  how  the  boat 
hail  steered  as 
t  boat  behind 
soon.  As  its 
lit.  the  counter 
k  its  stern.  It 
se.  and  in  one 
shelving  brace 
bent  and  hung 
like  a  pair  of 
go  out  into  the 
le  middle  and 
were  pulled  on 

d  the  next,  and 
r  enougli  to  es- 
went  into  the 
piled  on  each 
Crash  !  smash ! 
!,  every  way. 
;  wrecks.  The 
ng  in  evcrv  di- 


Snubbing  the  Uoat. 


rection  tlirough  the  air,  and  over  the  people. 
Thousands  and  thousands  of  dollars  were 
sunk  and  lost  in  a  few  moments.  An  under 
current  speedily  formed  beneath  the  wreck, 
and  many  of  the  boats  were  sucked  under, 
and  went  completely  out  of   sight. 

The  men  on  them  made  good  their  escape 
bv  the  first  opportunity.  One  boat  ran  partly 
over  a  sunken  one  —  stuck,  tilted  for  a  min- 
ute ;  then  her  bow  was  sucked  down  so  quick- 
ly that  her  stern  was  jerked  in  the  air,  and  the 
men,  -who  had  run  back,  were  sent  flying,  just 
as  the  boys  shoot  up  stones  by  striking  one 
end  of  a  tilted  stick  on  whicli  they  are  placed. 
The  men  landed  in  the  water  a  few  feet  dis- 
tant with  a  great  splash,  and  swam  ashore, 
sputtering  and  swearing,  amidst  the  shouts 
and  laughter  of  the  crowd. 

The  channel  was  now  completely  blocked 
bv  the  wrecks  of  a  dozen  boats;  ami  the  creek 
above,  from  bank  to  bank,  was  jammed  full  of 
rails  and  boats.  No  more  boats  got  through 
that  dav,  as  the  freshet  had  begun  to  subsiile. 
Most  of  those  in  the  creek,  above  the  bridge.  : 
saved  their  cargoes,  and  got  olV  w  ;th  the  next  1 
freshet.  | 

The  stream,  for  miles  below,  was  covered  | 
with  barrels  of  oil,  lumber,  oars,  poles,  frag-  j 
ments  of  boats, —  all  tloating  in  the  thick  ^ 
flood  of  oil  which  covered  the  stream.*  ^ 

The  bc.it  Arthur  was  on  alone  of  the  three 
th.1t  started  together  got  through.  After  they  ^ 
passed  the  bridge  the  boat  was  crowded  up  j 
against  the  shore  to  slacken  its  velocity  some-  ^ 
what.  One  of  the  boatmen  then  jumped  ^ 
ashore  with  a  cable,  rnd  made  a  "  running-  , 
hitch"  around  a  stump  —that  is,  he  wound  it  , 

•By  one  poml-freshet  jam  over  thirty  tluiusiind  ba.rcis  of  I 
oi!  were  estimated  to  have  been  lost. 


arouiul  so  that  it  woiikl  slip  slowly,  holding 
the  end  and  gradually  checking  tlie  motion  of 
the  boat.     This  is  called  ••snubbing"  a  boat. 

"  I  can  do  that,  I  guess,"  said  Arthur. 

"Guess  not,  sonny,"  said  an  old  ral^sman. 
"You'd  probably  break  the  cable  or  your  own 
leg  —  perhajis  both,  and  your  jolly  neck  into 
the  bargain." 

Arthur  thoiigiit  the  boatman  very  disrespect- 
ful. '•  -Sonny  1  "  said  Arthur  to  himself,  indig- 
nantly ;   ••  and  I  in  my  teens  !  " 

Uncle  Charley  and  Fred  were  waiting  on 
the  bank  for  tliem.  He  told  them  he  had  al- 
ready soUl  the  oil  in  the  boat  to  one  of  the 
numerous  oil  brok^jrs  that  assembled  at  Oil 
City  on  pond-freshet  days.  The  other  boat 
was  a  total  loss.  It  happencil  that  the  wrecked 
cargo  was  the  one  taken  ••  at  owner's  risk."  at 
fifty  cents  a  barrel ;  and  the  one  that  came 
through  was  the  one  whose  delivery  was  in- 
sured by  the  boat-owner  at  seventy-five  cents. 
So  they  had  to  pay  freight  both  on  the  lost  oil 
and  on  the  other. 

After  p(»ying  all  charges,  the  money  left 
gave  the  boys  tltirty  dollars  each  for  their 
shares.  They  felt  exceedingly  happy  and  rich. 
Thev  had  never  owned  so  much  money  before, 
••  all  for  their  own."  Uncle  Charley,  however, 
was  not  so  well  satisfied,  and  declared  he  would 
never  ship  any  more  oil  by  boats. 

The  owner  of  the  farm,  who  had  lost  all  o( 
his  oil,  said  the  same,  and  declared  that  he 
would  immediately  put  up  tankage  enough  to 
hold  all  the  oil  produced  on  his  farm  until  it 
could  be  shippetl  by  rail. 


40 


P  E  T  R  O  L  I  A . 


tIMMitUt  ►-•/»»#*»*•*  '• 


PART     III. 


0PS     AND     DOWNS     OP     THE     OIL 
BUSINESS. 


"  I  "HE  owner  of  the  farm  on  which  was  the 
■■■  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  proceeded  im- 
mediately to  carry  out  the  determination  he 
made  when  his  boat  and  the  one  belonging  to 
Arthur,  Fred,  and  uncle  Charley  were  lost  in 
the  "  pond  freshet  jam,"  viz.,  to  build  tanks 
to  receive  all  the  oil  produced  by  all  the  wells 
on  his  farm,  until  it  could  be  sold,  barrelled, 
and  shipped  away  profitably  and  satiely. 

He  contracted  with  a  firm  in  Titusvilie  to 
build  for  him  two  iron  tanks  of  four  thousand 
barrels  capacity  each.  The  iron  plates,  of 
which  these  tanks  were  built,  were  rolled  out, 
cut  the  right  size  and  shape  to  form  the  bot- 
tom and  sides  when  put  together;  the  pieces 
for  the  sides  were  bent  to  the  proper  curve, 
and  all  were  punched  with  rivet-holes  all 
around  the  edges.  All  this  was  done  at  the 
shops,  and  so  accurately  calculated  that  when 
the  pieces  were  taken  to  the  farm,  and  each 
one  fitted  to  its  proper  place,  they  made  ex- 
actly the  right  sized  and  shaped  bottom ;  the 
curved  pieces  met  in  a  complete  circle  of  the 


right  sire,  and  all  the  rivet-holes  came  oppo- 
site exactly,  so  that  the  bolts  could  be  put  in 
and  the  plates  riveted  together.  Every  piece 
fitted  as  it  should  to  make  an  iron  tub  forty- 
one  feet  in  diameter  and  seventeen  feet  deep. 

The  boys  were  amazed  to  see  the  confused 
heap  of  iron  plates  go  together  and  gradually 
build  the  great  tanks.  They  speedily  "  scraped 
an  acquaintance"  with  the  greasy  machinists, 
who  looked  so  rough  and  understood  their 
business  so  well.  They  found  them  to  be  very 
intelligent  and  civil,  as  well  as  very  clever 
men,  rough  as  they  looked. 

When  the  big  tanks  were  done,  all  the  pro- 
ducing wells  on  the  farm  were  allowed  to  lay 
pipes  to  them  and  run  their  oil  in  to  be 
stored.  For  this  storage  the  proprietor  of  the 
tanks  charged  them  a  small  fee  per  barrel. 
In  time  he  got  enough  money  back  for  tank- 
age of  other  men's  oil  to  repay  him  the  cost 
of  the  tanks,  which  was  six  thousand  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  both  tanks.  By  measuring 
tlie  depth  of  the  oil  before  and  after  each 
man  ran  a  small  tank  of  oil  in,  he  could  com- 
pute how  much  had  been  delivered  to  be 
stored,  and  was  entitled  to  be  taken  out  again 
by  each  person. 

Uncle  Charley  and  the  boys  bought  barrels 
and  barrelled  their  oil  as  fast  as  they  could 


r 


<T1 


B  catne  oppo- 
lid  be  put  in 
Every  piece 
on  tub  forty- 
;n  feet  deep, 
the  confused 
nd  gradually 
iily  "  scraped 
y  machinists, 
erstood  their 
?ni  to  be  very 
i  very  clever 

,  all  the  pro- 
lowed  to  lay 
oil  in  to  be 
prictor  of  the 
i  per  barrel, 
ick  for  tank- 
him  the  cost 
und  five  hun- 
y  measuring 
i  after  each 
e  could  com- 
vered  to  be 
:en  out  again 

lUght  barreU 
)  they  could 


# 


PETROLIA. 


41 


i 


It  was  only  when  the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well 
got  the  start  of  them,  and  filled  their  tanks 
bpfore  they  could  haul  it  away,  that  they  ran 
it  into  the  big  tanks. 

Although  the  well  produced  prodigious 
quantities  of  oil,  they  did  not  get  rich  very 
fast.  It  cost  so  much  to  buy  barrels,  put  up 
the  oil,  and  hire  it  teamed  across  the  moun- 
tain to  the  railroad,  that  but  little  was  left  for 
their  share  of  the  sales.  The  teamsters  de- 
manded all  thoy  could  exact  for  hauiing  the 
oil.  They  calculated  just  how  much  the  oil 
would  sell  for,  what  it  cost  to  barrel  it,  and" 
they  would  take  nearly  all  the  remainder, 
leaving  a  very  little  profit  for  the  owners  of 
the  oil  —  for  which  generosity  uncle  Charley 
always  thanked  them  with  the  most  profound 
gratitude.  These  expenses  "  ate  up  "  nearly 
all  the  receipts. 

Then,  the  striking  of  several  large  wells  had 
increased  the  supply  of  oil  so  largely  that  the 
market  was  overstocked,  and  the  price  of  oil 
went  down  to  a  very  low  point.  Uncle  Char- 
ley said  if  the  market  kept  on  downward,  he'd 
goon  have  to  pay  some  one  to  take  the  oil  as 

a  gift- 
In  addition  to  small  profits,  their  supply 
began  to  decrease.  The  production  of  the 
Flag-and-Windmill  Well  lessened  a  little  ev- 
ery day  from  the  first.  Its  yield  had  been 
largely  overrated  on  the  start.  It  made  such 
a  display  of  power  and  production,  that 
everybody  who  saw  it  gauged  its  yield  too 
high.  It  is  probable,  after  the  water  was  all 
drawn  off,  it  never  had  yielded  more  than 
eight  hundred  and  fifty  barrels  per  day,  actual 
measurement.  At  the  end  of  two  months  this 
had  decreased  to  between  five  and  six  hun- 
dred barrels  per  day.  The  spirts  from  "  Na- 
ture's wounded  artery  "  grew  less  violent  and 
less  frequent,  as  though  she  were  slowly  sink- 
ing and  expiring  from  loss  of  much  blood. 
There  were  now  intervals  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes  between  the  spasms  of  flow,  during 
which  the  well  was  entirely  quiet. 

This  falling  off  alarmed  the  boys.  They 
asked  their  uncle  if  he  supposed  the  well  was 
going  to  cease  flowing  altogether. 

Uncle  Charley  said  he  expected  it  to,  in  the 
course  of  time;  all  flowing  wells  do. 

"  And  what  will  we  do  then?"  asked  bot^ 
of  the  young  "  operators  "  at  once. 

"  Well,"  was  the  reply,  "  we  can  pump  the 
well,  and  make  it  continue  to  pay  as  long  as 
there  is  any  oil  left  in  the  veins  tapped  by  it. 
When  that  don't  pay,  we  car  abandon  the  Flag- 
and-Windmill  Well,  and  sink  other  wells  on 
this  lease.     Or,  we  can  sell  out  this  lease,  and 


all  we  have  here,  and  take  the  money  and  quit 
the  business  with  the  little  pile  we  have  made; 
or  go  somewhere  else,  make  another  lease, 
and  try  our  luck  again.  Now,  which  would 
you  like  to  dot"  " 

"  How  much  can  we  sell  out  for?"  .isked  the 
careful  little  Yankees. 

'•  Not  as  much  as  we  could  have  got  two 
months  ago.  When  we  first  struck  oil,  I  was 
offered  for  our  interest  in  the  well  —  how  much 
do  you  guess,  now?" 

The  boys  had  got  some  new  ideas  as  to  the 
extent  of  the  money  operations  of  the  oil  coun- 
try, and  thought  they  could  guess  pretty  near. 

"Fifty  hundred  dollars,"  said  Fred. 

"  Pooh  !  "  exclaimed  Arthur,  contemptuous- 
ly. "I  guess  fifty  thousai:d  dollars,"  going, 
as  he  thought,  to  an  extreme  price. 

Uncle  Charley  laughed.  "  I  was  offered  one 
million  dollars,  and  refused." 

"  Why  didn't  you  sell  ?  "  ask'^i  Arthur,  vain- 
ly trying  to  get  some  idea  of  h  ■  v  much  a  mil- 
lion dollars  is. 

"  Well,  I  thought  I  could  make  more  to  hold 
on.     And  I  don't  think  I'd  sell  for  that  now." 

"  Hem  I  I  would,  if  I  were  ycu,"  said  Fred. 

"  Would  you  ?  "  rejoined  his  uncle.  "  Well, 
you  and  Arthur  may  sell  your  interest,  if  you 
wish  to.  You'll  find  plenty  of  speculators  ready 
to  make  you  an  offer." 

The  two  young  "  greasers  "  talked  their  busi- 
ness over  together.  Fred  said,  "  How  much 
is  our  interest  worth.'" 

"  If  uncle  Charley's  whole  interest,  with 
ours,  is  worth  a  million  dollars,  ours,  which 
is  one  twenty-fifth  of  his,  must  be  worth  forty 
thousand  dollars." 

"  I  guess  that's  about  a  fair  price  for  our  in- 
terest," said  Fred;  "if  any  of  the  spectators 
offer  that,  let's  sell,  Arthur.'" 

He  looked  puzzled  and  undecided.  Either 
of  the  boys  had  but  little  comprehension  of 
the  sum  they  were  talking  about  so  glibly,  and 
with  such  business-like  airs. 

They  did  not  have  long  to  wait  for  a  chance 
to  sell,  for  within  a  week,  two  men,  rough  and 
mud-bespattered,  came  along  and  asked  uncle 
Charley  if  he  would  sell  his  interest  in  the 
Flag-and-Windmill  Well.  He  said  he  guessed 
not,  but  perhaps  they  could  make  a  trade  with 
two  young  fellows  who  owned  a  small  interest 
with  him. 

"  Where  are  they,  and  how  much  do  they 
own?"   asked  the  speculators. 

"There  they  e.-e,  and  they  each  own  one 
fiftieth  of  the  working  interest,"  answered 
uncle  Charley,  pointing  to  the  beys. 

"What,  those  little  shavers!    Do  they  own 


i 


m 


42 


PETROLIA. 


The  Boy  Operators  and  the  Speculators. 


as  much  property  as  tliat?"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  iiiun. 

"  Those  must  bo  tlie  '  boy  operators'  I  lieard 
thQin  telling  about  at  Tiuisville,"  said  the  oth- 
e'  nian. 

Tiie  hoys  stood  up  as  straigh";  and  tall  as 
possible,  and  tritil  to  look  business-like,  and 
appear  as  iftlioy  had  been  in  such  large  trans- 
actions all  their  (short)  lives.  It  (/t'l/  appeal 
largely  to  their  pride  to  be  referred  to  as  part- 
ners of  so  old  and  successful  an  operator  as 
uncle  Charley  ;  to  hear  that  they  were  known 
and  talked  of  "  on  change,"  and  to  be  called 
on  to  nc  otiate  a  forty  thousand  dollar  trade. 
They  could  hardly  realize  it,  and  thought, 
••  What  would  father  and  mother,  and  the  boys 
in  our  school,  say,  if  they  knew  what  a  big 
business  we  are  tloing.'" 

One  of  the  fieu  gave  the  other  a  sly  wink, 
r.nd  saiil  to  the  boys,  — 

"Give  you  thirty  Ihousuiid  —  three  davs' 
Ouyers'  option  —  two  ti'iusand  refusal.  \Vhat 
dSe  say ? " 

This  was  '-all  Greek"  to  Tred.  Hut  Ar- 
thur's incpiiring  turn  of  mind  had  put  him  in 
possession  of  the  meaning  of  '•  refusal."  ko  that 
he  understood  the  men  olVered  two  thousand 
for  the  |)rivilege  of  taking  the  interest  anv  tiiv.e 
within  three  days.     .So  he  said, — 

"  You  can  have  it  for  forty  thousand." 

"It's  a  bargain."  And  one  of  the  men 
counted  out  two  thousand  and   handed  it  to 


Arthur.  Uncle  Charley  told  them  he  would 
make  the  transaction  good,  so  far  as  the  boys 
could  not. 

As  the  men  rode  away,  Arthur  heard  one  of 
them  say  to  the  other,  — 

"  You  didti't  catch  that  boy  —  did  you  .'  He's 
a  shar|>  'un." 

••  I'lide  Charley,"  said  Fred,  "  do  you  sup- 
pose they  will  come  hack  and  take  the  well.' 
They  don't  look  as  if  they  h-id  so  much 
money." 

"They  have  not,"  re|ilied  uncle  Charley; 
"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  this  two  thousand  was 
their  pile." 

"  Then  how  are  they  jjoing  to  buy  our  well .' " 
asked  the  astonished  hoys. 

"They  don't  want  to  /my  the  well;  they 
want  to  sc/l  it." 

"  Why,  no  I  "  exclaimed  Fred  ;  "  we  own  the 
well,  and  -t'c  want  to  sell  it.  Haven't  they 
agreed  to  buy  it,  I'd  like  to  know.'" 

"You  can't  sell  it,  if  you  do  want  to — at 
least,  you  have  i"-  ■ight  to  sell  at  any  jirice, 
during  the  next  three  da_\s.  No  one  can  sell 
your  interest  for  the  next  three  days  but  those 
men.  If  some  one  should  now  come  and  oil'er 
you  sixty  thousand  dollars  or  eighty  thousand 
dollars,  ^■ou  couldn't  sell.  Those  fellows  will 
find  a  buyer  at  an  advance.  Although  they 
don't  0-17/  it,  and  don't  intend  to.  they  may 
sell  it  for  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  dollars;  then 
they  will  pay  you  thirty-eight  thousand  more, 


i' 


all   II       II  *ii>  ■ 


hem  he  would 
ir  as  the  boys 

r  heard  one  of 

iiclvou?    He's 

"  do  you  sup- 
take  the  well? 
had    so    much 

icle  Charley; 
tiiousand  was 

)uy  our  %vell?" 

lie   well;   they 

'•  we  own  the 
Haven't  they 
?" 

I  want  to  —  at 
1  at  any  iirice, 
o  one  can  sell 
lays  but  those 
onie  and  oiler 
;hty  thousand 
ie  fellows  will 
Uthough  they 
to,  they  may 
dollars;  then 
ousaiid  more, 


P  E  T  R  O  L I  A . 


43 


•n 


i 


I 


and  po»-ket  the  rest  for  their  profits.     That's 
the  way  they  make  their  money." 

"  What!  "  exclaimed  Fred,  warmly;  "if 
some  one  offers  us  more  than  forty  thousand 
dollars,  can't  we  sell  and  make  the  profit,  in- 
stead of  those  spectators  t " 

"  No,  sir!  You've  sold  the  chance  to  do  that, 
and  got  your  two  thousand  dollars  for  it." 

"That  ain't  fair !  "  cried  Fred  ;  "  I  won't  do 
that.     We  ought  to  sell  for  more,  if  we  can." 

"  It  isn't  at  all  likely  you  can,  so  don't  get 
excited  about  it.  Those  men  know  where  to 
find  customers  at  big  figures;  you  don't. 
You  are  doing  well  enough.  If  they  don't 
sell,  you  will  have  the  two  thousand  dollars 
clear.  If  they  do,  you  will  have  forty  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  I  should  think  that  was  a 
comfortable  little  pocket-full  for  a  couple  of 
boys." 

"I  declare!"  added  he,  to  himself,  laugh- 
ing, "  there's  just  about  the  same  nature  in 
boys,  as  in  men.  Those  boys  never  owned  a 
hundred  dollars  of  their  own,  and  now  they 
want  to  bolt  a  bargain  that  gives  them  two 
thousand  dollars  sure,  and  forty  thousand 
dollars  probably,  for  the  possible  chance  of 
a  few  thousand  dollars  more.  Human  na- 
ture can't  be  satisfied.  The  little  scamps  act 
just  as  I  would,  for  all  the  world.  They  learn 
fast." 

Then  he  said  aloud,  "  Fred,  you  seem  to  be 
somewhat  dissatisfied  with  the  offer  you  have 
made.  Have  you  any  idea  how  much  money 
fortv  thousand  dollars  is,  do  you  suppose? 
Do  you  know  it  would  buy  four  or  five  farms 
like  your  father's ;  make  you  the  richest  men 
in  your  village;  and,  at  simple  mierest,  give 
vou  two  boys  about  efff/it  dollars  to  spend  every 
day  of  your  lives.  It  would  put  you  where 
you  never  need  work  a  day.  if  you  don't  want 
to.  Guess  you  don't  know  when  you  have  a 
good  thing.  I'm  afraid  this  oil  business  is 
demoralizing  you.  Learn  to  be  contented 
w'.th  enough." 

He  was  going  on  with  a  highly  instructive 
"preachment,"  when  Fred,  with  a  boy's  di- 
lectness  and  want  of  reverence,  interrupted 
him  with,  — 

"  Why,  uncle,  when  you  had  a  chance  to 
fell  for  a  million  dollars,  you  didn't,  but  stuck 
OH  to  make  more!  A  million  dollars  is  more 
than  forty  thousand." 

This  cut  short  uncle  Charley's  lecture  on 
contentment.  He  had  to  turn  his  face  away 
to  hide  a  look  of  confusion  and  mirth.  The 
vastness  of  these  transactions  confused  the 
boys,  while  the  immense  siims  of  money  that 
changed  hands,  the  large  fortunes  made  and 


lost  daily  around  them,  upset  all  their  previ- 
ous ideas  of  the  value  of  money.  They  now 
thought  and  spoke  of  9  thousand  dollars  as 
they  once  would  have  spoken  and  thougiU  of 
a  dime.  By  a  single  stroke  of  luck,  there 
seemed  to  lie  at  the  feet  of  these  two  boys  a 
fortune  many  times  larger  than  their  parents 
had  been  able  to  accumulate  by  a  lifetime  of 
patient  toil,  good  management,  and  close  econ- 
omy. All  the  wonders  of  Aladdin's  transfor- 
mations, of  which  they  had  often  read,  were 
utterly  cast  into  the  shade  by  this  sudden, 
mysterious,  powerful  upspouting  of  greasy 
wealth.  Yet  they  had  got  a  glimpse  — only 
a  peep  —  into  the  vast  wealth  unlocked  from 
the  caverns  of  earth,  and  spread  abroad  over 
its  surface. 

The  boys  indulged  in  many  dreams  and 
plans  as  to  what  they  would  do  with  their  for- 
tune —  when  it  came.  It  was  only  a  dream, 
and  a  very  short  one.  Like  many  older  oper- 
ators, these  boys  were  counting  their  chickens 
before  the  eggs  were  hatched.  For,  the  second 
day  after  the  refusal  was  given,  tie  Flag-and- 
Windmill  Well  -was  flooded  and  ruined.  This 
calamity  came  in  this  way  :  — 

As  soon  as  the  big  well  was  struck,  the  own- 
ers of  leases  adjoining  commenced  to  bore 
wells  as  close  as  they  could  get,  in  hopes  of 
striking  the  same  great  reservoir  of  oil  from 
which  the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  was  sup- 
plied. In  this  attempt  one  of  the  wells  suc- 
ceeded. But  the  result  was  not  what  was  an 
ticipated.  As  soon  as  the  new  well  penetraieo 
the  cavity,  instead  of  commencing  to  spout,  as 
the  Flag-and-Windmill  had  done,  it  allowed  a 
great  column  of  water  to  rush  down,  fill  the 
crevice,  and  stop  the  flow  of  oil  and  gas  into 
the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well.  The  pressure 
of  gas  and  oil,  which  had  kept  the  latter  flow- 
ing being  thus  removed,  it  also  filled  with 
water.  In  a  few  minutes  both  wells  were  full 
of  water  to  an  equal  height,  and  there  they 
rested.  The  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  was 
good  for  nothing  in  that  condition  for  either 
production  or  sale :  of  course  the  speculators 
never  came  back  with  the  balance  of  the  forty 
thousand  dollars. 

Thus,  in  an  hour,  uncle  Charley  and  the 
boys  saw  a  million  of  dollars  vanish ;  and  the 
forty  thousand  they  almost  had  their  hands 
on,  slipped  through  their  fingers.  To  them 
it  was  a  great  disappointment.  But  their 
uncle  took  it  very  coolly ;  he  actually  laughed, 
and  said,  — 

"  Never  mind,  boysl  This  is  greaser's  luck. 
We  must  take  the  lean  with  the  fat." 

"  But,"  said  Arthur,  "  what  are  we  going  to 


^■^ 


*  --^r 


fe. 


44 


PETROLIA. 


Fred  "  keft  Tally.  "    Page  43. 


l: 


do  now?  Can't  the  water  be  got  out,  and  make 
it  spout  oil  again?" 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use  to  pump  the  water 
from  o/ic  well  alone.  The  other  well  would 
flood  it,  if  not  pumped  also.  Both  wells  have 
j;ot  to  be  cased  water-ti{{ht,  and  pumped,  and 
kept  clear.  Then  both  welU  would  probably 
yield." 

This  course  uncle  Charley  immediately  pro- 
posed to  the  owners  of  the  new  well.  They 
were  fjreedy,  exacting  men,  and  thought  they 
had  the  big  well  in  their  power.  They  said 
t\.cy  would  do  what  uncle  Charley  proposed, 
if  he  would  give  thei.i  half  the  oil  produced 
for  him  thereafter  by  the  Klag-and-Windmill 
Well;  and  they  olfered  to  give  h.m  half  the 
yield  of  their  well,  if  it  produced  anvthing. 
In  other  words,  they  would  make  an  eijual 
partnership  in  the  profits  of  the  two  wells. 
They  did  not  know  th  it  their  well  would  pro- 
duce anything:  they  i/i<l  know  that  the  Flag- 
and-Windmill  Well  would  yield  enormouslv. 

This  demand  uncle  Charley  would  not  ac- 
csde  to.  He  tried  to  buy  the  new  well,  and 
get  it  out  of  the  way.  They  said  they  would 
sell  and  get  out  of  the  way  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars  !  Their  well  was  not 
worth  it  —  perhaps  not  worth  anything.  They 
priced  it  according  to  its  value,  not  for  j^-oof/, 
but  for  haym.  They  thought  they  could  com- 
pel the  Flag-and- Windmill  Well  to  buy  them 
off  at  that  price. 


Uncle  Charley  said  he'd  "  see  them  hanged 
before  he'd  pay  it."  And  they  never  got  the 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  theyicXX. 
so  sure  of. 

So  there  the  wells  stood,  full  of  water,  and 
useless  to  the  owners  of  either. 

'.'  What  arc  we  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked 
the  boys. 

"Well,"  replied  their  uncle,  "we  can  sell 
out  our  well  as  it  stands,  with  the  lease,  en- 
gine, rig,  tanks.  &c.,  and  quit  the  business ; 
or,  we  can  hold  the  well  just  as  it  is,  and 
lie  still  until  tliose  fellows  come  to  their 
senses;  they  have  sunk  all  the  money  they 
have  got  in  their  well;  we  haven't.  Or,  we 
needn't  wait  at  all.  We  have  got  ^ix  thousand 
five  hundred  barrels  of  oil  in  tanks  and  barrels. 
We  can  sell  this  for  enough  to  .sink  more  wells 
on  our  lease,  and  I  think  we  would  stand  a 
good  chance  to  make  anotiier  strike.  Now, 
which  do  you  say  do  -  -  sell  out  anr"  quit,  wait 
for  those  figs  to  come  down,  or  sink  more 
wells?" 

Arthur  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  asked, 
"  If  it  would  make  the  Flag-and- Windmill 
Well  again  worth  a  big  sum,  why  isn't  it  >i 
good  thing  to  buy  off  the  new  well  ?" 

"For  several  reasons  it  is  not  good  policy," 
answered  the  old  operator.  "  First,  if  we 
should  pay  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars  to  buy  off  this  well,  in  less  than  a 
month  we  should  have  forty  more  wells  to  buy 


1^ 


H 


them  lianged 
lever  {jot  the 
Alars //ley  Mt 

)f  water,  and 

ut  it?"  asked 

'  we  can  sell 
ihe  lease,  en- 
;he  business; 
IS  it  is,  and 
ine  to  their 
money  they 
n't.  Or,  we 
>ix  thousand 
i  and  barrels. 
k  more  wells 
3uld  stand  a 
trike.  Now, 
k'  quit,  wait 
r  sink  more 

then  asked, 
id-Windmill 
ly  isn't  it  a 

r?" 

ood  policy," 
First,  if  we 
ty  thousand 
less  than  a 
wells  to  buy 


PETROLIA. 


45 


cd,  and  all  operations  were  suspended,  tio  one 
knew  for  how  lonj;,  at  the  Flaij-and-Windmill 
Well,  they  conchided  they  wouUI  close  out  their 
oil  liusiness  until  their  next  visit  to  IVtrolia. 

Accordingly  tlu-y  and  their  uncle  proceeded 
to  market  the  oil  they  hud  on  hand.  Large 
numbers  of  barrels  were  bought  and  filled.  It 
was  a  busy,  bustling  scene.  One  large  gang 
of  men,  under  uncle  Charley's  ilirection,  was 
engaged  in  drawing  the  oil  from  the  tanks 
into  the  barrels,  while  another  gang  under 
Arthur  rolled  them  away,  and  helped  Ic/.ui 
them  on  the  wagf)ns.  Fred  had  a  book,  and 
••kept  tally,"  putting  down  the  name  of  the 
teamster,  and  the  number  of  barrels  he  re- 
ceived to  haul  at  each  load. 

The  caravan  of  teams  was  a  sight.  They 
covered  the  ground  thickly  around  the  tanks, 
as  !nany  as  couki  load  at  once.  They  were 
consta^Aly  going  and  coming  in  long  trains. 
They  commenced  to  work  at  daylight  in  the 
morning,  and  worked  until  alter  dark.  Many 
hordes  were  killed  by  overwork.  The  roads 
were  very  muddy  antl  cleeji.  Constant  pas- 
sage of  heavily-loaded  wagons  cut  the  soft  soil 
up  into  ilcep  holes  anil  ruts. 

At  this  time  came  another  turn  in  \\xp 
I  "greaser's  luck.''  that  served  to  put  a  little 
I  light  into  the  dark  picture  of  the  drowning 
out  of  the  Fhig-ancl-Windmill  Well.  ()\\  just 
in  the  nick  of  time"  took  a  sudden  upward 
Windmill  Well,  like  flies  around  'i  honey-pol,  turn  in  |irice  ;  it  advanced  to  a  very  profitable 
trying  to  tap  it  and  our  pockets.  We  don't  figure.  It  was  to  take  advantage  of  this  that 
want  to  offer  an  inducement  to  men  to  flooil  uncle  Cliarley  crowded  the  work  of  shipment 
our  well:  they  will   think   they  can  strike  our  ;  as  hard  as  possible. 

moncv,  if  they  don't  strike  oil;  we  might  as  1  hey  succeeded  in  getting  it  all  out  to  the 
well  give  up  at  once,  as  to  olTer  .loth  our  well  j  railroad,  and  sold  just  at  the  highest  point 
and  ourselves  to  be  pumped  dry,  in  that  way.  i  reached.  By  this  lucky  turn  they  made  more 
In  the  second  place,  it  is  a  question  of  doul)t  ■  olf  that  one  lot  than  they  had  olV  all  they  had 
as  to  what  the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  will  j  sold  before.  The  profits  amounted  to  nearly 
do  if  restored:  she  may  pay,  and  may  not;  I  '\  thirty  thousand  dollars,  of  which  the  boys 
don't  want  to  pay  two  hundred  and  lil'ty  thou-  were  entitled  to  two  tiftieths,  or  twelve  hun- 
sand  dollars  on  an  uncertainty."  :  dred  dollars. 

"Can't  we  sto]i  them  spoiling  car  business,  \      They  had   the  two  thousand  dollars  which 
so?"  asked  .\rthiir,  indignantly,  all  1  -s  sense  '  the   two   speculators   had    paid    for   the    three 


Uncle  Charley's  Goou  By. 
off;  they  would  crowd  around  the  Flag-and- 


of  justice  ami  right  aroused  by  the  conduct  of 
their  sell'ish  and  obstinate  neighbors. 

"I  don't  know;  I  think  I'll  try  and  see  if 
the  law  will  give  us  justice.  There  is  a  clause 
•n  mv  lease  and  in  theirs  that  forbids  their 
leading  the'ir  well  untested,  to  llood  another 
well." 


days'  ref-usal  of  their  interest,  and  about  one 
th'Uisand  dollars  cleared  otf  pre\ious  sales  of 
f)il.  They  liguretl  it  all  up.  ami  found  they 
could  boast  of  over  four  thousand  dollars  in 
their  own  right. 

'•That's    a    )iivttv   good   vacation's  work,   if 
we  </ii//i'g   get  ttie    I'ortv    thousand   dollars  we 


This   was  a    I'oolish    determination    on   the     thought  we  were  going  to,"  said  Fred. 
l)art  of  uncle  Charley,  for  he  would  lose  more         "  Fred."  said  Arthur,  '•  should  we  carry  all 
money  by  the  delays  and  expenses  of  the  law     this  home  with  us?" 
than  it  would  have  cost  him  to  buy  up  the  new         "Yes;  why  not?" 
well,  even  at  the  e^orb'  ant  ])rice  asked.  "Because,    if  uncle   Charley   is  at   any  ex- 

As  the  boys'  vacation  was  now   iiearly  end-  [  pense  to  get  the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  to 


'^flW 


46 


PETROLIA. 


operatiiit;  ai;:iiii  wc  ouylit  to  help  pay  tlie  ex- 
pense; besiiics,  if  wc  don't,  we  can't  expect 
any  interest  in  it  wlien  it  proiliiccs  again.  I 
want  to  stand  by  iinile  Cli.iilcy  and  the  old 
Fl.n<,'-aiid-\Vindin"iIl  Wfll." 

"All  ri^ht,"  said  Fred;  "so  (io  I.  Let's 
leave  half  our  money  here  with  him  to  put 
things  through  with,  until  wc  can  come 
again." 

.So  they  did.  A  tew  days  after  they  hade 
good  by  to  the  bustling,  dirty,  exciting  scene. 

"  Three  cheers  for  the    Flag-and- Windmill 
Well !  "  cried  Fred. 
•They  gave  them  with  a  bovish  will. 

"Three  uv.  and  a  tiger  for  uncle  Char- 
ley I  "  said  Artluir. 

They  gave  these  with  redouliled  energy. 

Uncle  Charley  climbed  up  to  the  top  of  the 
now  inotionless  working-beam,  and  waved  his 
hat  to  them  as  long  as  he  could  see  them  on 
their  winding  w;i\  liown  the  mountain  side. 

They  reached  home  in  Massachusetts  in 
safety  —  rugged,  brown,  hajipy,  and  rich. 
They  liad  drafts  on  the  bank  for  two  thou- 
sand dollars. 

The  boys  were  the  admiration  and  envv  of 
their  school,  and  were  extensively  lionized  hv 
the  whole  country  round  as  "  the  two  little 
shavers  who  made  a  pile  in  the  oil  diggings." 


Lulu  strikes  Oil. 

with  the  black,  sticky,  stinking  stuff,  that  the 
traces  of    it    could    not    he   got   out   of    her 


These  attentions  soon  reconciled   the  br)ys  to  |  hair,  nor  the  scent  of  it  out  of  the  .house,   in 
the  profits,  which  at  one  time  seemed  a  mere     weeks. 


trifle  compared  with  the  forty  thousand  dol- 
lars they  didn't  get  —  so  small  as  to  seem 
hardly  worth  bringing  home.  They  found 
that  it  didn't  take  as  much  to  make  '■  a  rich 
man"  at  their  country  home  as  it  did  among 
the  "oil  princes"  and  tnillionnaires  of  Penn- 
sylvania. 

Our  boys  and  girls  who  have  reati  the  his- 
tory of  tlie  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  will  per- 
haps remember  that  when  Arthur  and  Fred 
started  for  Petrolia,  little  Lulu  requested  them 
to  bring  her  a  bottle  of  "  oi-e-1  to  dease  her 


"Hurrah!"  cried  Fred;  "  another  one  of 
the  family  has  struck  oil  I  " 

Arthur  asked  his  mother,  mischievously, 
"  what  she  would  take  for  her  working  inter- 
est in  Lulu's  strike  ■:*  " 

"  Mother  can't  see  where  the  laugh  comes 
in  !  "  saitl  Fred. 

All  the  rest  of  the  family  did,  juiiging  by 
the  noise  they  made  about  that  time. 

All  the  subsequent  history  of  the  Flag-and- 
Windmill  Well,  and  the  improved  condition 
of  things  Arthur  and    Fred    found,   on   their 


haa."     Lulu  also  remembered   it,   though  her  ;  next  visit  to    Petrolia,   will    be    hereafter  de- 
brothers   had    long  since  forgotten   it,   in   the  \  scribed;   also  what  they  did  w  ,ti  all  the  mon- 
exciting,    wild    life    they    had    lived.      In    the     ey  they  made  in  the  oil  busin.  s. 
midst  of  the  general  joy  over  the  safe  return  ! 
of  the  young  "operators,"  and  of  the  exulta-  |  ~ 

tion  over  their  good  fortune,  Lulu  was  left  to 
her  own  devices.  She  improved  the  occasion 
to  dive  into  the  boys'  trunk,  and  fished  up 
therefrom  a  bottle  of  crude  petroleum,  which 
they  had  brought  home  to  exhibit  as  a  curi- 
osity. When  she  was  at  last  missed,  by  rea- 
son of  her  stillness,  she  was  found  squared  up 
before  the  mirror  on  a  chair,  industriously 
"  deasing  her  haa."  She  had  soaked  her 
golden-yellow,    flossy     locks     so    thoroughly 


I*   . 


L. 

stuff,  that  the 
)t  out  of  her 
the  .house,   in 

nother  one  of 

nisehievously, 
•vorking  inter- 

;  laugh  comes 

r/,  juilging  hy 
time. 

tlie  Fhig-and- 
(ved  condition 
und,  on  their 
hereafter  de- 
li all  the  mon- 


PETF 


I  A. 


47 


PART      IV 


1 


PUMPINO    OIL.-"  TORPEDOING'    THE 
WEIiL. 


WHEN  Fred  and  Arthur  again  returned  to 
tiie  oil  regions  great  ciianges  had  taken 
jij.icc  in  the  appearance  of  tlie  country,  in  the 
oil  business,  and  in  the  location  of  tlie  oil 
territory. 

Railroads  had  been  built  to  all  important 
points  in  the  oil  countrv,  atVording  conven- 
ient and  rapid  outlets  to  market.  The  man- 
ner of  handling  and  shipping  oil  had  changed  ; 
the  army  of  teams  and  fleets  of  oil  boats  on 
"  pond  IV'  -  "  had  passed  away.    The  man- 

ner of  iig  wells,  of  buying,  selling,  and 

leasing  iciritory,  marketing  oil,  ani!.  in  fact, 
the  whole  character  of  the  business,  had  im- 
proved wonderfully.  Besides,  the  region  of 
oil-producing  wells  had  shifted  from  place  to 
place.  Oil  had  been  struck  in  new  places  not 
before  considered  at  all  likely  to  be  oil  terri- 
tory, and  nn)st  of  the  localities  that  had  once 
been  the  most  valuable  had  been  exhausted 
and  ceased  to  produce.  Where  once  the  boys 
hail  seen  thousands  of  men  busy  and  excited 
with  the  tremendous  supply  of  oil,  all  was  now- 
still  and  stagnant;  no  one  was  to  lie  seen  — 
not  even  one  of  the  long-nosed,  gaunt  hogs, 
that  seemed  to  be  everywhere  in  that  country. 
They  went  to  a  spot  where  once  had  stood  a 
ci'/y,  with  banks,  theatres,  gran,!  hotels,  large 
stores,  and  tlaily  papers.  All  tiiat  could  be 
seen  was  a  few  sh:inties  and  i  wilderness  of 
derricks  —  the  mournful  monuments  of  lost 
hopes  and  buried  fortunes. 

Fred  inquired  of  a  lone  resident  of  the  spot 
what  had  become  of  all  the  buildings.' 

"  They  were  torn  down,  and  the  lumber  sold. 
Part  of  them  were  burned  in  big  oil  fires.  The 
four  story  hotel  that  stood  here  (pointing  to 
the  spot)  was  moved  away  to  the  nex'  place 
where  there  was  a  big  oil  excitement." 

The  boys  also  saw  the  bridges  and  embank- 
ments of  what  had  nncc  been  a  railroad,  over 
which  they  had  formerly  ridden.  Husiness 
had  passed  out  of  its  reach,  and  it  had  been 
taken  up.  As  the  other  .side  of  this  dark  pic- 
ture they  saw  many  new  towns  where  they 
had  formerly  seen  but  a  wilderness.  And 
there  seemed  to  be  a  more  settled  and  stable 
appearance  to  the  places  and  the  people.  They 
learned  that  the  borers  found  no  more  big 
flowing  wells  now,  but  paying  wells  were  more 
numerous.  There  were  more  chances  for  an 
operator  to  make  soinvtlihiff  to  pay  him;  and 
so  many  more  paying  wells  were  struck  that 


more  oil  was  produced  than  when  the  big  levi- 
athan spouters  were  going.  So  great  were 
the  changes  that  a  sliort  time  had  made  I  It 
gave  the  boys  new  ideas  as  to  the  persever- 
ance, energy,  ingenuity,  and  pluck  of  the  won- 
derful iTien  of  that  wonderful  country. 

Luckily  uncle  Cliarley's  lease  had  not  en- 
tirely become  "played  out"  territory,  as  they 
c.-".'.  it  when  it  ceases  to  yield.  The  Flag-and- 
Vindmill  well,  whiili  tlu'v  left  full  of  water, 
was,  after  months  of  delay  and  contest,  cleaned 
put  and  got  to  producing  agiin.  The  arrange- 
ment finally  made  with  the  rival  well  was  the 
very  one  uncle  Charley  had  at  first  proposed 
;o  his  selfish  neighbors.  The  owners  of  each 
Well  agreed  to  case  and  puinp  his  own  well, 
and  /•(•(•/  //  free  of  water  .ind  get  what  he 
could  out  of  it.  The  two  weDs  were  in  process 
of  tubing  when  the  boys  returned  to  the  spot, 
so  tliev  were  on  haiul  to  see  tlie  whole  opera- 
tion of  bringing  the  old  Flag-and-Windmill 
Well  to  life  again. 

The  first  step  was  to  case  the  well.  This 
was  done  to  make  the  well  water-tight.  Ti>e 
ciisiiii;  is  iron  pipe  four  airl  a  half  to  six  inches 
in  diameter:  it  is  screwed  together  in  joints 
by  means  of  a  thimble  or  collar,  into  which 
each  end  of  a  length  fits.  It  is  put  into  the 
well  to  make  a  water-tight  barrel  in  which 
they  could  put  the  pump-tubing  and  work  the 
pump.  As  the  casing  is  to  shut  off  the  springs 
of  water  that  fiow  into  the  well,  it  has  to  be 
put  down  as  far  as  tliere  were  any  water-veins. 

Arthur  now  saw  tim  benefit  of  the  log-book 
l.e  had  kept  when  the  well  was  drilling.  The 
log  told  where  the  water-veins  were  foimd. 
He  consulted  the  book,  and  informed  the 
workmen  that  they  would  have  to  go  down  to 
the  first  sand-rock  to  get  below  all 
the  water-veins;  which  would  re- 
quire three  hundred  and  thirty  feet 
of  casing  to  be  put  in  the  well. 

The  manner  of  putting  down  the 
casing  interested  the  boys.  One 
length  of  pipe  w.\s  let  down  into  the 
.veil;  it  was  kept  from  falling  by  a 
pair  of  clamps.  These  were  clasped 
around  the  pipe  just  below  the  col- 
lar which  \  as  screwed  on  the  upper 
end  of  the  pipe.  The  clamp  was 
locked  tight  by  means  of  a  link  on 
the  handles.  The  coupling  kept  the 
clamp  from  slippingoff  the  pipe,  and 
theclamp  resting.acrossthemouth  of 
the  well  kept  the  whole  from  falling. 

A  curious  machine,  called  a  s-vh'cl.  '" 

was  now  screwed  in  the  coupling  of    ClUBip 
another  length  of  pipe.    The  swivel 


i 


48 


PETROLIA. 


/ 


has  a  heavy  hook  in  it  which  can  turn  with-  ;  oeeJ,  and  the  wl.ole  wrapped  around  the  ca«- 
out  unscrewing  the  rest  of  the  machine  from  '  ing,  and  firmly  bound  there. 
tJie  casinj;.  I       p^ed  said  it' looked  like  a  broken  leg  with  a 

••  W  liv."  said  Arthur,   •'  that's  just  like  the     poultice  and  bandages  on  it.     It  made  a  bunch 
swivel  on  my  watch-cl.ain."  on  the  pipe  nearly,  but  not  quite,  large  enough 

"Yes,"  said  Fred;  "and  it's  just  to  till  the  space  between  the  casing  and  the 
^  like  the  swivel  on  lather's  big  log-  rock.  When  the  casing,  thus  swaddled  ii 
JK        '^hain."  j  leather  and   tlax-seed,  was  let  down  to  place. 

When  the  swivel  was  tightly  I  the  water  gradually  penetrated  the  leather 
-crewed  on  the  length  of  casing,  it  and  soaked  the  seed."  In  a  few  hours  it  swelled 
was  hooked  on  the  bud-wheel  rope,  [  so  as  to  till  the  space  around  the  pipe  full  and 
the  engine  started  up.  and  the  piece  tight.  Thus  all  the  water  was  shut  in  between 
of  pipe  elevated   until    it   hung    up-     the  casing  and  the  rock,  and  al)ove  the  sced- 


Striirel  ''.U'ht.  end  to  end  with  the  length  in 
tlu-  well.     A  hi;;  pair  of  tongs  were 

now  put  on  the  ujiper  piece  of  pipe,  and  it 
was  screweil  ilown  into  the  coupling 
as  far  anil  a-  li^lit  as  it  could  be 
forced.  'J'lie  chuii|)  licld  the  lower 
piece  from  turning. 

\\  lien  the  connection  was  made 
secure  the  clamp  was  loosened 
enough  to  let  the  c<>ii|)ling  pass 
tlii-oiii;h.  'J'he  bull-wheel  was  turn- 
etl.  and  the  pipe  let  down  until  the 
next  coupling  airiveii  at  the  clamp; 
then  the  clamp  dosetl  on  the  pipe 
again,  and  held  it.  The  swivel 
was  unscrewed  and  att-.iched  to 
another  length  of  casing;  and  the 
operation  repjated  until  a  continu- 
ous casing  was  screwed  together, 
y  J  .ind  let  ilown  as  far  as  the  lirst  saiul- 
lock.  Great  care  was  taken  all  the 
time   tliat   the   hea\  v  casin^r   ^|lould 


Tonys. 


bag;   it  could  not  get  into  the  casing,  nor  run 
down  to  Hood  the  well  below  t'.,e  casing. 

The  same  work  was,  at  the  same  time,  done 
in  the  well  on  the  next  lease. 

The  next  step  was  to  put  in  a  pump  and 
pump-pipe,  called  tnbhisr.  The  pump,  or 
punii)-barrel,  is  a  brass  tube  six  feet  long  and 
two  inches  inside  diameter.  At  the  lower  end 
its  bore  is  contracted  a  little:  this  is  to  wedge 
in  tightly  the  lower  valve-box. 
Two  valves  operate  in  the  |iump-barrel. 
The  lower  valve-box  is  sta- 
tionary, and  therefore  is 
called  the  ftiui(/iiiir-  box. 
The  other  valve  rises  and 
tails  in  the  barrel  with  the 
plunger.  It  is  called  the 
iij'/icr-box. 

These  |nimp-boxes  are  of 
brass,  have  a  "  ball  valve." 
and  are  surrounded  with 
several  rings  of  leather,  call- 


iiot   slip   through   and   uo  dou  n   Jie        IJ'/'^'"/'""'/'*''^- ed  "  packing."  to  make  them 


well  with  a  crash;  to  this  end  the  clamp  1 
was  kept  just  loose  enough  to  let  the  pipe  j 
sli|)  through  while  it  was  beiig  lowered,  but 
not  loose  enough  to  let  the  coupling  go 
through.  Tluis  if  the  engine,  bull-wheel, 
drill,  rope,  or  swivel.  —  any  one,  or  all  of 
them,  ^  should  gi\e  way,  the  casing  could 
fall  onlv  till  the  last  coujiling  reached  the 
clamp;  then  the  claui))  woukl  stop  the  tailing 
pipe  at  the  coupling.  Two  men  attended  the 
clamp  while  the  casing  was  passing  dow  n.  to 
see  that  it  ke])t  the  work  secure. 

But  before  the  lirst  piece  was  |nit  in  the 
well,  the  workmen  fastened  on  the  lowci-  end  wears  them  out  fast, 
a  ftcd-bair.  The  seed-bag  is  a  sinii)le  con-  The  pump-barrel,  with  the  standing-box 
trivance  for  sealing  u\>  the  space  between  the  fixed  securely  in  its  lower  end,  was  now 
casing  and  the  rock  wate.-iij.ht,  so  that  no  screwed  on  a  length  of  two-inch  iron  tubing: 
water  can  pass  down  farther  th:m  the  seed-  another  length  on  that,  and  so  on,  just  as 
bag  at  the  first  sand-rock.  It  is  a  strong  ;  described  in  the  operation  of  putting  in  the 
leather  sack,  about  four  feet  long.  They  first  '  casing.  Tubing  is  very  heavy  and  strong 
lashed  it  firmly  around  the  lower  end  of  the  '  pipe;" none  but  the  best"  ••  lap-welded"  pipe 
easing.     Then  the  bag  vvas  filled  with  flax-     will  hold  the  tremendous  pressure  of  a  column 

'  of  oil  six  hundred  feet  high. 


tit  tight  in  the  barrel,  and 
"suck"  up  the  oil.  A  [iro- 
jection  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  working-box  is  fitted 
to  screw  into  the  standing- 
box  ;  by  letting  one  box 
down  on  the  otiier,  ami  turn- 
ing the  upper  one,  the  two 
become  attached  together, 
and  so  can  be  drawn  out  of 
the  well  when  neetling  re- 
pairs. ;is  the  leather  pack- 
ings  I'reciuently   do.      The   "grit"   in   the  oil 


Lowerpuinp  boar. 


\ 


■JBaHBwaai  , 


'ound  the  cat- 
ken  leg  with  a 
made  a  hunch 

hirge  enough 
ising  and  the 

hwaddk'd  ii 
nvn  to  place, 
d  the  l.'ather 
)urs  it  swelled 

|)ipe  full  ami 
lit  in  hetween 
ove  the  seed- 
sing,  nor  run 

casing, 
lie  time,  done 

a  puiii|)  and 
le  pump,  or 
feet  long  and 
the  lf)\ver  end 
is  is  to  wedge 

pump-harrel. 
e-box  is  sta- 
theret'oie  is 
'audi  11  i^  -  box. 
.e  rises  and 
rel  wilii  ihe 
>    called    the 

•boxes  are  of 
'  bull  valve." 
lunileii  with 
leather,  call- 

0  make  them 
barrel,   and 

oil.  A  pro- 
owcr  end  of 
)X  is  fitted 
he  standing- 
ig  one  box 
er,  and  turn- 
one,  the  two 
I'd  together. 
Jrawn  out  of 
neetling  re- 
jnther  pack- 
"   in    the  oil 

itanding-box 
J,  was  now- 
iron  tubing: 

1  on,  just  as 
itting  in  the 

and  .strong 
elded  "  pipe 
of  a  column 


1 


fA 


PETROLIA. 


49 


;^ 


Arthur  understood  the  necessities  of  this 
cnse,  as  he  had  learned  in  philosophy  that  the 
pressure  of  fluids  depended  not  on  the  quan- 
tity, but  the  height  of  the  column.  He  ex- 
plained to  Fred  that  a  one-inch  pipe,  ten  feet 
long,  full  of  water,  would  press 
just  as  heavily  as  a  full  pipe  of 
the  same  length  ten  inches  or  ten 
feet  in  diameter.  With  all  his 
talk,  however,  he  couldn't  make 
Fred  believe  it;  in  fact,  he  told 
Arthur  that  when  he  said  ten 
inches  of  water,  ten  feet  high,  is 
as  heavy  as  one  inch  of  water  ten 
feet  high,  he  was  "gasing." 

They   now  had    three   sizes  of 
pipe  in  the  well,  — 

I.  The  drive-pipe  (which  yf)u 
who  read  the  first  of  these  arti- 
cles, in  the  March  number  of  Ol'R 
Ilovs  AND  Girls,  will  remember 
was  first  driven  in  the  earth)  six 
inches  in  diameter,  extending 
only  down  to  the  bed  rock,  twenty 
two  feet.  2.  The  casing,  with  the 
seed-bag  on,  four  and  one  half 
inches  in  diameter,  extending 
down  to  the  first  sand,  three  hun- 
dred and  thirty  feet.  3.  The 
tubing,  two  inches  diameter,  to 
g.  IIUU  the  bottom  of  the  well.  The 
S  la  drive-])ipe  was  necessary  to  save 
\f\  drilling  in  sinking  the  well;  the 
casing,  to  shut  out  water;  the 
tubing,  to  conduct  the  oil  up 
from  the  pump  to  the  surface. 

Fred  thought  he  had  made  a 
discoverv.  "If  /  was  doing  this 
job,"  said  he,  confidently,  "  I 
would  not  put  in  so  many  pipes. 
I'd  just  tie  the  seed-bag  on  the 
liihiii!^  at  the  right  spot  to  shut 
the  water  in  auove,  and  so  I'd 
save  the  cost  of  the  casing.  The 
tubing  can  just  as  well  keep  out 
the  water  as  to  put  down  casing 
a-purpose  to  do  it." 

"Yes,  and  you'd  be  just  about 
as  smart  as  ivc  used  to  be  yea.'s 
ago!"  answered  one  of  the  men.  "Put  the 
seed-bag  on  the  tubing,  and  the  first  time  you 
had  to  move  the  tubing  to  change  the  position 
of  the  pump,  or  had  to  haul  it  up  for  repairs, 
you'd  burst  the  seed-bag,  and  down  goes  the 
water  into  your  well.  Then  you've  got  to  put 
on  a  new  seed-bag,  and  you've  made  yourself 
a  job  of  a  week  or  two  to  get  the  water  out 
again,  besides   ine  damage  done  to  the  well 


every  time  you  flood  it.  No,  young  man, 
casing  is  a  cheap  investment,  merely  to  keep 
the  water  out." 

The  next  step  was  to  set  the  pump  going. 
The  upper  valve-box  is  operated  in  the  barrel 
at  the  bottom  of  the  well  by  means  of  .««f*cr- 
rods.     These  are  slender  hickory  or  ash  poles, 


Sucker  rod  Joints. 

twenty  feet  long,  on  the  ends  of  which  are 
riveted  irons  that  screw  into  each  other,  thus 
making  a  continuous  sucker-rod  to  the  bottom 
of  the  well.  On  the  lower  end  the  working- 
box  is  screwed,  and  the  whole  lowered  in  the 
tubing  until  the  working-valve  is  in  phue  in 
the  barrel. 

Fred  had  been  long  enough  in  "  Petrolia  " 
tr)  get  his  wits  sharpened,  and  learn  to  use  his 
eyes  and  ears  more,  and  his  tongue  less,  than 
formerly.  It  is  a  great  place  to  teach  observa- 
tion. .So  Fred  decided,  without  asking  any 
questions,  that  the  sucker-rods  were  made  of 
wood,  instead  of  iron,  to  save  weight  in  op- 
erating the  pump. 

To  the  last  sucker-rod  there  was  screwed  a 
round  iron  rod,  which  projected  out  of  the  top 
of  the  tubing. 

"  Now  for  the  ftnffing- 
hox  '  "  said  the  workmen. 
Fred  again  thought  of  tur- 
key when  he  heard  the  word 
••  stufling."  The  stufiing- 
box  (instead  of  a  roast  tur- 
kev)  is  an  iron  that  screws 
on  the  top  of  the  tubing; 
has  a  hole  through  its  top 
large  enough  to  let  the  iron 
rod  through:  a  space  is  left 
in  the  box,  around  the  rod,  to  be  filled  or 
.•./////(v/ tight  with  cotton  or  rags  to  make  the 
joint  tight.  In  one  side  of  the  stuffing-box 
is  a  spout  to  let  the  oil  out,  as  it  could  not 
rise  above  the  stuffing  around  the  rod. 

The  rod  was  now  attached  to  the  working- 
beam,  and  they  were  ready  to  pump.  The 
(jther  well  was  also  ready,  and  both  com- 
menced to  pump  the  same  day. 

Evervbodv  was  now  anxious  to  see  what  re- 
port the  great  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  would 
make  after  its  long  sleep.  Would  it  spout  again 
after  the  load  of  water  was  removed.'  Would 
it  vield  anvlhing.'  Ilowmuch'i'  These  were 
questions  in  which  thousands  of  dollars  for 
the  boys  and  their  uncle  were  involved. 

The  pump  from  neither  well  brought  up 
an}  hing  but  water  for  ten  days.   All  the  crev- 


Stuffini/JSox . 


50 


PET  R  (J  MA. 


ices  and  caverns  from  which  so  much  oil  nnd 
gas  had  risen  wo-rc  full  ot  water,  and  had  to 
be  emptied.  At  the  end  often  days  oil  bfijan 
once  more  to  come  from  the  pump  of  the  P'lag- 
and-VVindmill  Well,  ihis  supply  increased 
until  the  well  had  worked  up  to  forty  barrels 
a  day  —  no  more. 

The  other  well  never  produced  oil  in  paying 
quantities.  After  two  weeks'  pumping  there 
was  a  small  "show,"  and  at  len^'th  a  yield  of 
five  barrels  a  day.  This  began  to  fall  ofT.  and 
in  a  few  days  the  well  was  abantloned.  Thus 
the  proprietors  of  it  became  bankrupt,  and  the 
engine  and  tools  were  sold  by  the  slierilf.  It 
proved  fortunate  that  uncle  Charley  had  not 
consented  to  give  them  half  the  yield  of  the 
Flag-and  Windmill  Well.  In  damaging  him 
so  much  they  had  ruined  themselves. 

Arthur  and  Fred  pitied  them,  although  they 
had  been  the  means  of  the  Flag-and- Wind- 
mill Well  losing  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
dollars.  As  they  sat  on  the  bull-wheel  shaft 
of  their  ruined  well,  and  gloomily  contem- 
plated their  buried  hopes  and  fortunes,  they 
were  indeed  pitiable. 

"  What  will  they  do  now?"  asked  Fred,  of 
his  uncle. 

"  O,  they  will  go  to  work  by  the  day  on 
some  well,  and  in  a  year  or  two  they  will  earn 
and  save  up  enough  to  buy  an  interest  in  an- 
other lease,  and  start  in  again.  Probably  the 
next  you  hear  of  them  they  will  be  worth  half 
a  million  apiece.  This  isn't  the  first  time 
they've  failed,  and  probably  it  will  not  be  the 
last.  They  don't  care  half  so  much  about  it 
as  they  seem  to  —  not  as  much  as  you  do.  A 
'busted  greaser'  never  stays  'played  out' 
long." 

The  boys  were  also  much  disappointed  in 
the  yield  of  their  own  well  since  its  restora- 
tion. Forty  barrels  a  day,  by  the  slow  and 
expensive  means  of  pumping,  seemed  to  them 
small  business  when  they  thought  of  the 
former  self-operating  fountain  of  eight  hun- 
dred barrels'  capacity.  As  usual,  anxious  to 
know  the  cause  of  everything,  they  sought 
from  their  uncle  an  explanation  of  the  falling 
off  of  the  well. 

"  What  is  the  reason.'"  Arthur  asked,  "  that 
the  well  does  not  do  more.  What  has  become 
of  all  the  oil  and  gas  we  once  found?  Why 
does  water  in  the  well  injure  it  so?" 

For  reply,  his  uncle  took  him  to  a  tank 
through  which  oil  and  water  had  been  run- 
ning some  time.  Part  of  the  oil  vvas  thick  as  ' 
mud.  nnd  there  was  a  gathering  of  sticky,  wax- 
like,  brownish  matter  in  the  tank.  He  ex- 
plained. 


I      "That  thick  stuff  is  faraffinc.     It  will  form 

and   harden  in  oil  exposed  to  the  action  of 

,  water  or  air.   When  the  well  is  left  with  water 

in  it  this  paralline  is   separated,  settles   in  the 

crevices   and  openings  of  the  oil   veins,   and 

I  soon  putties  them  up. 

j  "Besides  that,  tiie  action  of  water  in  a  well 
I  left  idle  washes  down  dirt  and  smt  11  stones, 
which  form  a  sediment  at  the  bottom  of 
the  well,  and  choke  up  the  seams.  Then 
there  is  so  much  salt  water  in  all  wells  that 
salt  crystallizes  on  the  walls  of  the  well,  and 
helps  obstruct  the  How  of  oil.  Again,  in  some 
wells  the  water  has  so  much  lime  or  other 
mineral  in  it,  that  a  crust  forms  on  the  tubing, 
just  as  you  have  seen  it  on  the  inside  of  the 
tea-kettle.  I  presume  the  same  crust  forin^  on 
the  sides  of  the  well. 

"All  these  things  help  to  form  permanent 
obstructions  in  the  well.  Besides,  in  many 
cases,  the  same  oil  veins  are  tapped  by  other 
wells,  and  while  one  is  lying  idle  the  others 
may  carry  off  all,  or  nearly  all  the  oil  in  that 
particular  bpsin." 

"Well,  uncle,"  said  Fred,  "no  other  well 
has  carried  off  all  our  oil,  for  there  is  some 
there  yet." 

"  Yes,  I  think  there  is  a  good  lot  of  it  there 
yet.  I  think  pnrafline  is  the  principal  ob-truc- 
tion  in  our  well." 

"  Can't  we  get  it  out  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  boys. 

"O,  yes;  paralline  is  the  easiest  of  all  the 
obstructions  to  remove.  We  will  try  some 
benzine  on  it  to-morrow." 

The  next  day  several  wagon  loads  of  ben- 
zine, in  barrels,  came,  and  the  boys  had  a 
chance  to  see  how  it  operated  on  paralline. 
They  took  a  little  of  the  thickest  they  could 
get,  and  poured  some  benzine  on  it.  It  dis- 
solved the  paraffme  in  a  few  moments. 

The  tubing  was  now  drawn  out  of  the  Flag- 
and-Windmill  Well.  This  operation  required 
only  a  few  hours.  One  of  the  workmen  asked 
Fred  where  his  well  would  be  now  if  there 
was  no  casing  in  it,  and  the  seed-bag  was  on 
the  tubing?  When  the  tubing  was  out,  thev 
eiTiptied  twenty-four  barrels  of  benzine  into 
the  well,  filling  it  partly  full.  They  leu  it 
thus  a  few  hours  for  the  benzine  to  act  on  the 
paraffme. 

The  boys  went  frequently  to  see  how  the 
well  got  along  with  that  dose  of  benzine  in  it. 
To  their  surprise  it  gradually  sunk  in  the  well, 
until  they  could  not  touch  benzine  with  ten 
sucker-rods  screwed  together.  Fred  ran  ex- 
citedly to  the  shanty,  and  called  out,  — 

"  O.  uncle,  the  well  has  sprung  a  leak  some- 
where, and  the  benzine  is  all  running  out!" 


J 


It  will  form 
the  action  of 
eft  with  water 
t-cltlos  in  tlie 
)il   veins,   and 

ater  in  n  well 
stnf  II  stones, 
e  bottom  of 
earns.  Then 
all  wells  that 
the  well,  and 
gain,  in  some 
iine  or  other 
Jii  the  tubing, 
:  inside  of  the 
rust  forms  on 

ni  permanent 
;les,  in  many 
)l)cd  by  other 
He  the  others 
le  oil   in  that 

TO  other  well 
liere  is  some 

lot  of  it  there 
:ipal  ob>truc- 

le  of  the  boys. 
est  of  all  the 
ill   try   some 

oads  of  bun- 
boys  had  a 
on  paralline. 
St  they  could 
■n  it.  It  dis- 
icnts. 

:  of  the  Flag- 
tion  required 
irkmcn  asked 
now  if  there 
i-bai;  was  on 
vas  out,  thev 
benzine  into 
They  left  it 
to  act  on  the 

see  liow  the 
)enzine  in  it. 
k  in  the  well, 
ine  with  ten 
Fred  ran  ex- 

)Ut,  — 

a  leak  some- 
tiing  out!" 


I 


■'    i 


r 
c 


tr 

V. 


I  ■  ■  '''" 


li'l'i''", 
'i'  i-ii 

Hi    ;  1 1  |i 


;* 


PETROLIA. 


53 


<-• 


i 


How  the  men  lajghed !  Uncle  Charley  ex- 
plained that  the  benzine  was  cutting  the  par- 
affine  in  the  oil  veins,  and  by  a  tremendous 
pressure  of  six  hundred  feet  head,  was  forcing 
its  way  into  all  the  crevices.  They  put  in  eight 
barrels  more  of  benzine,  and  left  it  to  cut  and 
press  a  whole  day.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
the  pump  was  put  down  again. 

At  first  only  benzine  came.  After  the  bulk 
of  that  was  out,  oil  began  to  come  in  increased 
quantities.  The  benzine  had  worked  so  well 
that  the  yield  ran  up  from  forty  to  seventy 
barrels  a  day.  They  continued  to  get  occa- 
sionally small  quantities  of  benzine  with  it, 
showing  how  that  fluid  had  forced  its  way 
back  into  the  crevices.  Chunks  of  pavalline 
also  came  up,  like  clotted  oil;  some  of  it  was 
lighter  colored,  and  quite  firm. 

This  increased  yield  did  not  last  long.  The 
flow  began  in  a  few  days  to  fall  off  again.  So 
this  proved  to  be  only  a  temporary  remedy. 
The  well  continued  for  some  time  producing 
what  would  be  considered  anywhce  else  but 
in  "  Petrolia  "  a  very  large  revenue.  Although 
it  paid  uncle  Charley  twenty-five  to  thirty-five 
dollars  each  day,  above  all  expenses,  he  was  not 
satisfied;  and  finally  declared  "that  tuppenny 
business  was  played  out.  I'll  blow  up  the  well, 
and  make  it  do  more,  or  nothing." 

"  Blow  it  up  !  "  echoed  Arthur;  "  how  will 
you  do  that?" 

"  I'U  put  a  torpedo  in  it." 
"Torpedoes!   Fireworks!    O,  goody!"  ex- 
claimed Fred,  with  "enthusiastic  applause," 
as  the  play-bills  say. 

"You  won't  see  much  fireworks,"  said  his 
uncle;  "but  if  you  and  Arthur  will  go  to 
Titusville,  and  tell  Mr.  Roberts  that  we  want 
the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well '  torpedoed,'  we'll 
sec  if  w  .  can't  show  you  some  o»7-works." 

They  went,  and  did  the  business  correctly. 
A  man  was  sent  down  the  next  day  with  the 
torpedo.  The  boys,  as  usual,  wide  awake  to 
any  new  thing,  very  soon  found  out  the  machin- 
ery to  explode  the  well.  They  discovered  first 
a  long  tin  tube,  closed  at  one  end  and  open  at 
the  other,  two  feet  long,  ai.d  two  inches  in 
diameter.  This  they  learned  was  to  be  loaded 
with  the  explosive  mut'-rial.  Then  they  fished 
out  of  a  basket  a  queer  iron  contrivance.  This 
was  the  head  to  the  torpedo,  to  be  fitted  in 
after  the  cas.e  was  full,  and  ready  to  let  down 
in  the  well. 

Of  course  Fred  had  to  try  it  on  the  c.nse, 
"  to  see  how  it  would  fit."  It  didn't  fit  at  all 
tightly;  in  fact  it  hung  quite  losely  in  the  end 
of  the  case. 

"Hallo!"    said    Fred;    "this    won't    do. 


You've  brought  the  wrong  head.  It  don't  fiti 
and  it  will  let  the  water  in  and  spoil  the  pow- 
der. You  have  got  to  go  back  and  get  anotiier 
head." 

The  man  looked  at  Fred  curiously,  «nd 
said,  "Boy,  are  you  running  this  torpedo 
business?" 

Fred  got  snubbed  for  talking  too  fast  and 
too  soon.  When  the  man  saw  how  confused 
Fred  looked,  he  good-naturedly  explained  to 
him  that  they  did  not  use  powder,  but  a  sub- 
stance called  nitro-glycerine.  It  will  explode 
in  water,  and  is  thirteen  times  more  powerful 
than  gunpowder.  He  brought  the  nitro-gly- 
cerine with  him  in  a  can,  and  he  poured  out  a 
little  and  showed  it  to  the  boys.  It  looked  like 
clear  oil  or  syrup.  He  told  them  he  should 
set  it  off  in  the  well,  not  by  touching  a  fire  to 
it,  as  in  the  case  of  powder,  but  by  shooting  a 
bullet  down  into  it.  He  put  a  few  ops  on  a 
stone,  and  dropped  another  stone  on  it:  it  ex- 
ploded like  a  small  cannon.  He  told  them 
many  stories  about  nitro-glycerine.  Once  an 
engineer  at  an  oil-well  stole  a  can  of  it,  and 
used  it  for  several  days  to  grease  his  engine 
with.  One  day  he  set  the  can  on  the  boiler  to 
warm  the  oil :  he  thought  it  was  cold  and  stiff. 
In  a  few  minutes  it  exploded,  and  killed  the 
man,  and  blew  the  engine-house,  boiler,  and 
machinery  into  thousands  of  pieces.  Messrs. 
Roberts  Bros.'  nitro-glycerine  magazine,  near 
Titusville,  exploded  one  day.  The  concussion 
was  heard  sixty  miles  away,  and  people  all 
over  that  region  thought  another  earthquake 
was  at  hand. 

The  man  now  poured  ths  nitro-glycerine 
into  the  tin  case  of  the  torpedo,  and  put  the 
head  on  the  case.  The  head  of  the  torpedo 
was  the  hardest  to  understand.  There  was  a 
round  iron  plug  three  inches  Icng,  bored  out 
hollow,  like  a  small  cannon  — which  in  fact  it 
is.  The  vent,  or  nipple,  and  percusion-cap  to 
shoot  it,  are  in  the  rear,  instead  of  on  one  side 
or  on  top  of  this  little  cannon.  The  cap 
and  nipple  are  protected  by  being  in  a  little 
round  hole  or  chamber  drilled  in  the  iron. 
This  little  cannon  is  suspended,  muzzle  down- 
ward by  an  iron  bail  or  handle;  this  bail  sup- 
ports both  the  case  and  the  head  when  be- 
ing let  down  into  the  well  by  means  of  a  strong 
string  or  wire.  The  hammer  to  strike  off  the 
cap  has  a  little  point  on  it,  ..mall  enough  to 
reach  down  into  the  chamber  in  which  the  cap 
is  set,  and  strike  the  cap.  There  is  a  hole  in 
the  hammer,  through  which  the  bail  of  the 
torpedo  passes.  This  lets  the  hammer  rise 
above  the  bail.  The  string  that  suspends  the 
torpedo  is  tied  to  the  bail,  and  passes  through 


wmmm 


•••jy.ii    I    L. 


54 


I'ETKOLI  A. 


a  small  hole  in  the  upper  pnit  of  the  hammer. 
Now  when  a  weiijht  is  sent  down  on  the  strinij, 
it  will  strike  the  hammer  before  it  does  the 
bail.  In  order  to  keep  water  out  of  the  cham- 
ber in  which  the  cap  is.  a  rubber  band  or  col- 
lar is  slipped  over  the  joint  between  the 
chuinher  ami  the  hammer;  this  keeps  out  the 
water,  but  is  elastic  enouj,'h  to  let  the  hanmier 
drop  down  a.ijainst  the  cap  when  the  weight 
comes  down  on  toj)  of  it  (the  hammer). 

The  cannon  or  phiir  was  loaded  with  .!,nm- 
powder  and  a  bull  of  lead,  the 
caj)  put  on,  and  the  rubber  band 
slipped  overthe  joint.  The  man 
then  fixed  the  head  into  the 
case  by  two  little  screws.  It 
was  all  ready,  and  he  be;,'an  to 
let  it  down  slowly  into  the  well 
by  a  coil  of  cord. 

When  enough  cord  had  been 
paid  out  to  sink  the  torpedo  t(; 
a  point  o])posite  the  oil  crevi- 
ces, the  messenger  to  discharge 
it  was  slipped  on  the  line.  This 
is  a  tin  tube  eight  inches  lon^r, 
with  a  ball  of  jeaii  on  one  end. 
The  hall  alone  would  vibrate, 
and  bound  from  siile  to  side, 
and  break  the  string.  The  tin 
tube  serveii  as  a  tail  or  guiile 
to  it,  to  kec|)  it  steady.  Kreil 
undorstootl  the  elVect  of  this  bv 
his  experience  with  ilarls  and 
arrows,  lie  also  compared  the 
weight  to  the  "messengers" 
he  used  to  send  up  on  the  line 
to  his  kite. 

All  was  now  ready,  and  the 
little  messenger  was  started 
down  the  line  through  six  hun- 
y^~  dred  feet  of -..-ater.  to  discharge 
the  magazine.  The  people 
around  the  well  expected  a 
great  eru|Uion.  and  stood  back 
a  respectful  distance.    The  only 

occurrence   was   a    suppressed, 
Torfcdo Head.  ,    •,  .  ,       ....i  •. 

'  dull  report,  and  a  little  agita- 

tion in  the  well. 

"Why  don't  it  blow  the  water  out.'"  asked 
the  astonished  and  disappointed  boys. 

"  Wafer  is  just  as   good  wadding  as  paper,  , 
if  you   get  enough   of  it   on   top  the  load.     It 
would   take   a  bigger   torpedo  than  ever  was 
made  yet  to  start  that  column  of  water  up," 
said  uncle  Charley. 

The   torpedo   agent   added,   "  W'e   have   to 
strengthen   the  case  of  the  torpedo  with  steel 
ribs  all   around   the  inside,  else  the  pressure  | 
would  collapse  it." 


While  this  talk  was  going  on.  Arthur  stood 
gazing  intently  down  the  well.  .Sudilenly  he 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Well,  the  water  A-  blowed  uji,  and  //'.•!  com- 
iiiff  up  no-v!"  And  with  these  words  he  start- 
ed on  a  run  out  of  the  derrick,  pale  wi'h  fright, 
as  if  he  thou;(ht  torpedo,  water,  oil,  gas,  we'l, 
and  all  were  after  him. 

At  the  same  instant  all  the  rest  started 
towards  the  well  to  t.ee  what  had  frightened 
Arthur.  Hefore  they  got  to  the  well  they 
were  showered  with  water  and  oil. 

The  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  had  begun  to 
spout  again  ! 


,  Arthur  stood 
SudtlL-nly  lie 

,  and  //'.'!  com- 
.ords  he  start- 
ile  wi'li  fright, 
oil,  gas,  we'l, 

rest  started 
lad  frightened 

he  well  they 
il. 

had  begun  to 


PETROLIA. 


55 


^J 


H 


I 


PART    V. 


MABKETINC  OIL.  -  A  FIEHY 
PKESHET. 


THE  sudden  jump  of  the  Flag-and- Wind- 
mill Well  from  forty  barrels  up  to  two 
hundred,  when  "  torpedoed,"  lifted  uncle 
Charley,  Arthur,  and  Fred  on  the  top  wave 
of  fortune  again,  as  their  oil-boats  had  been 
lifted  and  carried  away  on  pond  freshets  in 
former  days.  Owing  to  the  better  regulated 
systems  of  doing  business,  a  two-hundred  bar- 
rel well  now  was  as  profitable  as  an  eight- 
hundred  barrel  well  was  at  the  time  the  Flag- 
and-Windmill  Well  was  first  struck.  They  had 
not  now  to  pay  so  large  a  portion  of  their 
earnings  for  hauling  the  oil  by  teams;  it  was 
all  transported  by  other  means.  Also,  the 
market  was  more  settled,  and  paid  more 
profitable  figures.  They  never  had  any  fears 
now  of  oil  going  down  to  ten  cents  a  barrel,  as 
was  the  case  once,  when  so  many  big  spouting 
wells  were  struck.  The  "flooding"  cf  the 
market  at  that  time,  while  it  made  oil  almost 
worthless,  and  ruined  many  individuals,  had 
a  good  effect,  viz.,  it  made  oil  so  cheap  that 
it  came  rapidly  into  use  all  over  the  civilized 
world,  taking  the  place  of  all  other  illumina- 
tors. Thus  a  permanent  demand  for  petro- 
leum was  created,  which  the  owners  of  wells 
afterwards  got  the  good  of,  in  a  steady,  cer- 
tain market. 

Another  reason  why  uncle  Charley  and  the 
boys  did  better  with  a  smaller  well  was,  be- 
cause they  were  not  at  the  expense  of  buying 
barrels;  they  sold  all  their  oil  in  bulk.  This 
expense,  which  was  once  many  times  the 
value  of  the  oil  contained  in  the  barrels,  they 
now  saved  for  their  pockets. 

When  the  large  supply  of  oil  recommenced, 
Arthur  began  to  look  about  for  the  storage  for 
it.  He  discovered,  for  the  first  time,  that 
during  their  absence  in  Massachusetts  uncle 
Charley  had  sold  all  but  two  of  their  tanks. 
Visions  of  another  wasteful  scene,  like  that 
when  the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  was  first 
struck,  came  in  his  mind.  In  consternation 
he  ran  to  his  uncle  with  — 

"  Why,  uncle,  what  has  become  of  all  the 
tanks  ?    Where  shall  we  put  the  oil  ?  " 

"  O,  there's  tankage  enough,  I  guess! 
When  our  tanks  get  full  we'll  pipe  it  I "  an- 
swered he,  coolly. 

"Pipe  it!  Pipe  it!  "said  the  boys.    "What's 

that!" 
Thev    soon    discovered   a    pipe  had   been 


laid  from  their  tanks  to  a  large  iron  tank  a 
few  rods  below.  When  their  tanks  were  full, 
uncle  Charley  told  the  boys  to  go  down  to  a 
little  building  near  the  big  tank,  and  tell  the 
agent  of  the  Pipe  Line,  that  the  Flag-and- 
Windmill  Well  wanted  to  deliver  some  oil. 

They  went.  On  the  building  was  a  little 
sign,  which  read  — 

BLOWALL    PIPE    LINE    CO. 
Station  No.  9. 

■  They  found  the  agent  inside,  and  did  their 
errand.  He  said  "  they  could  turn  on  in 
about  twenty  minutes;  if  they  would  wait 
he'd  tell  them  when  he  was  ready." 

They  waited.  In  a  few  minutes  he  went 
out  to  the  big  tank.  The  boys,  of  course, 
followed,  and  all  three  climbed  up  a  ladder  to 
the  top  of  the  tank.  It  was  covered  over, 
except  a  hole  about  two  feet  square,  to  which 
a  trap  door  was  fitted,  like  all  the  rest  of  the 
work,  of  iron.  The  top  was  covered  over  with 
sods,  on  which  green  grass  and  flowers  were 
growing. 

"  Well,"  exclahned  Fred,  "  I  should  think 
this  was  one  of  the  hanging  gardens  we  read 
about  I  What  ma'Kes  you  let  this  tank  all  grow 
up  to  grass  so  ?  " 

"  We  sodded  it  over  to  keep  the  sun  off;  the 
heat  of  the  sun  sometimes  sets  gas  and  oil  on 
fire,  and  explodes  a  tank." 

"  How  large  is  this  tank?  how  much  does  it 
hold?"  asked  Fred. 

"It  is  eighteen  feet  high,  forty-five  feet 
across,  and  holds  about  five  thousand  bar- 
rels," answered  the  agent. 

"  Then  there  are  about  two  thousand  five 
hundred  barrels  of  oil  in  it  now.  It's  about 
half  full,  I  should  think,"  said  Arthur,  peering 
down  into  the  tank. 

"  We  v  on't  guess  at  it,  I  reckon,"  said  ths 
agent,  smiling.  He  then  took  a  long  pole,  o.i 
which  feet,  inches,  and  quarters  of  inches  were 
marked,  and  set  it  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
tank.  Pulling  it  up  again  he  looked  at  the 
mark  of  the  oil  on  the  pole,  and  found  the 
depth  of  the  oil  to  be  eight  feet  three  and  one- 
fourth  inches.  Putting  this  measurement  down 
in  a  little  book,  he  said,  "  Now  you  may  turn 
in  your  oil." 

"  But  aren't  you  going  to  empty  the  tank 
first?  We  don't  want  our  oil  to  go  in  with  any- 
body else's  oil,  I  guess,"  said  the  excicable 
Fred. 

"It  won't  make  any  difference  if  il  does 
mix.  Your  oil  isn't  any  heavier  than  the  pro- 
duction of  other  wells  here.     It  makes  no  dif- 


0 

111 


56 


PETROLIA. 


ference  to  you,  to  long  as  you  gtc  back  all  the 
oil  you  put  in,  does  it?"  said  the  agent.  "  I 
kno"Ar  how  many  barrels  there  are  in  the  tank 
now,  and  I  will  measure  again,  after  your  oil 
is  in,  and  then  we'll  know  how  much  you 
have  run  in." 

"  How  can  you  tell  by  the  feet  and  inches 
how  many  barrels  there  are  ?  "  asked  Arthur. 

"Go  and  tell  your  uncle  to  turn  in  the  oil, 
and  then  come  back  to  the  office,  and  I'll  show 
you,"  replied  the  agent. 

They  did  so.  In  the  office  the  agent  showed 
them  a  paper,  all  covered  with  figures;  it  was 
framed,  and  hung  up.     He  explained,  — 

"This  is  a  gauge-table.  This  cok  .in  of 
red  figures  shows  the  depth  of  the  tank,  by 
quarters  of  an  inch.  And  this  column  of  black 
figures  opposite  shows  the  quantity  of  oil  for 
each  measurement." 

Arthur  looked  on  the  gauge-table  for  the 
depth  the  agent  had  entered  on  his  book.  He 
read  it  off  thus:  — 

8f.  3  1-4  in.     .     .     .     98,398  gals. 

"Now,"  said  the  agent,  "divide  that  by 
forty-three,  and  see  how  many  barrels  there 
are  in  the  tank." 

Arthur  quickly  announced  the  result  to  be 
two  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
barrels  and  fourteen  gallons  over. 

"You  see,"  said  the  agent,  "your  guess 
of  twenty-five  hundred  barrels  was  too  liigh  : 
it  would  have  lo^t  you  about  two  hundred  and 
twelve  barrels  of  oil." 

Presently  the  oil  had  ceased  running  in 
from  the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well's  tanks,  and 
they  went  out  and  took  another  measurement. 
It  was  twelve  feet  eight  intlies.  Looking  on 
the  gauge-table,  they  read  again,  — 


i2f.  8  in. 


i.io>695  gnls. 


"  Now  subtract  your  other  number  from 
that,  and  you  will  know  how  much  oil  you 
have  delivered,"  said  the  agent.  Both  tlie 
boys  "worked  the  example,"  and  found  the 
difference  betwev;n  the  two  quantities  measured 
to  be  fifty-two  thousand  two  lumdroii  ami 
ninety-.seven  gallons.  They  divided  this  by 
forty-three,  and  learned  thoy  had  one  thou- 
sand two  hundred  and  sixteen  barrels  of  oil 
to  pipe. 

This   amount     the  agent   put   down   to   tlie 
credit  of  the   Flag-and-VVindmill  Well.      He  j 
also  entered  it  on  a  little  deposit  book,  which  j 
ho   gave  to  them,  just  like  a  bank  depositor's 
book,  only  he  entered  barrels  and  gallons  of 
oil  in  it  instead  of  dollars  and  cents. 

"  There,"  said  he,  when  it  was  done,  "  now 


you  can  check  out  your  oil  any  time  you 
please." 

"  Will  we  get  the  oil  here  f"  asked  the  boys. 

"No;  at  the  railroad  station." 

"  Why.,"  said  Fred,  "  that's  four  miles  from 
here.     How  will  you  get  the  oil  over  there?" 

"Come  in  here  and  I  will  show  you,"  he 
answered. 

He  took  them  into  an  engine  house,  where 
there  was  a  boiler  attached  to  a  machine,  that 
looked  like  an  engine,  with  a  tall,  hollow  air- 
chamber. 

"H.-^lloo!"  cried  Fred.  "See  this  funny 
engine,  with  a  balloon  on  it!" 

"That's  not  an  engine,"  said  the  agent, 
"  it  is  a  forcc-pnmp.  It  forces  the  oil  through 
four  miles  of  pipe,  to  the  company's  tanks  on 
the  railroad.  It  runs  by  steam,  and  has  force 
enough  to  carry  the  oil  over  hills  that  dis- 
tance. Your  oil  will  all  be  over  the  mountain 
in  a  short  time;  but  you  can  check  out,  and 
sell  it  now  if  you  want  to.  There  is  plenty 
of  oil  in  the  company's  tank  to  draw  from." 

The  next  day  uncle  Charlie  told  the  boys 
they  might  go  to  Oil  City,  and  sell  five  hun- 
dred barrels  of  oil  —  he  had  such  confidence  in 
their  business  capacity  and  trustworthiness. 
He  told  them  to  get  from  the  agent  of  the 
Pipe  Line  a  "certified  check"  for  so  much 
oil,  and  sell  it  for  the  best  price  they  could 
get.  Arthur  went  to  the  office,  and  told  the 
agent  he  wanted  to  call  five  hundred  barrels 
of  oil. 

"To  whose  order  shall  I  draw  it?"  asked  he. 

"  I  don't  know.  It  is  not  sold  yet,"  replied 
Arthur. 

"Very  well.  I'll  leave  it  blank."  He  then 
filled  out  a  printed  order,  to  read  like  this  :  -  - 

Barrels,  500. 

BLOWALL  PIPE   LINE, 
Deliver  to  or  order,  Five 

Hundred  Bbls.  Crude  Petroleum,  of  43  galls, 
e.icli.  and  charge  to  account  of  Flag-and- 
Windmill  Well. 

Collect  25  cts.  pipeage. 

CiiAS.  Arthur  &  Fred  Sears. 

A  line  in  fine  type  at  the  top  of  this  blank, 
said,  "This  order  is  not  good  until  accepted 
by  agent  of  station  at  which  the  oil  is  re- 
ceived." Accordingly  the  agent  wrote  his 
"acceptance"  across  the  face  of  the  order,  in 
red  ink,  in  these  words  ;  — 

".VCCEPTED  at  owners'  risk  for  any  loss 
by  Fire,  Leakage,  Evaporation,  or  Bursting  of 
Tanks. 

"John  Wardwell, 
"Agent  for  Bluwall  Pipe  Line." 


\y   time  you 

ted  the  boys. 

r  miles  from 
ver  there?" 
ow  you,"  hf 

louse,  -.vhere 
lachine,  tliat 
,  hollow  air- 

;   this  funny 

i  the  agent, 
;  oil  through 
ly's  tanks  on 
nd  has  force 
lU  that  dis- 
he  mountain 
eck  out,  and 
:re  is  pl«nty 
aw  from." 
)ld  the  boys 
ell  five  hun- 
:onfidence  in 
itworthiness. 
igent  of  the 
or  so  much 
;  they  could 
iiid  told  the 
dred  barrels 

?"  asked  he. 
yet,"  replied 

c."  He  then 
like  this  :-- 

r  order,  Five 
,  of  43  galls, 
f    Flag-and- 


KD  Sears. 

f  this  blank, 
ntil  accepted 
le  oil  is  re- 
it  wrote  his 
the  Older,  in 

for  any  loss 
•  Bursting  of 

WELL, 

*ipe  Line." 


pl'!'^;!^i1i|iii!i;l|l!|!|||^ 


■'!?;!':- yi.:'-,.V^'. 


»* 


Pki 


I 


rr 


The  "pipenge  '  is  the  cliarg^  -f  twenty-five 
cents  ft  barrel  for  transporting  t.  c  oil  through 
the  pipe. 

This  certified  order  was  all  the  boys  needed 
to  sell  their  oil  with.  It  was  as  good  ns  if 
Ihey  took  the  oil  with  them  on  wagons  or 
rars.  The  little  slip  of  paper  was  tjood  for 
five  hundred  barrels  of  oil  anywhere.  They 
went  to  Oil  City,  where  large  sales  of  oil  were 
made  daily,  and  where  brge  numbers  of  re- 
finers, agents  for  foreign  dealers,  agents  for 
refineries  in  dift'erent  parts  of  the  country, 
speculators,  oil-brokers,  &c.,  met  well-owners 
and  sellers  of  oil.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of 
dollars'  worth  here  exchanged  hands  daily. 

Arthur  mixed  up  with  the  throng,  ?'id  lis- 
tened to  the  prices  asked  and  paid  for  crude. 
Much  of  the  talk  he  could  not  understand,  as 
he  was  not  acquainted  with  the  terms  used. 
He  understood  enough  to  satisfy  himsell  what 
he  should  ask  for  his  oil. 

As  they  were  pushing  their  way  into  an  ex- 
Cited  knot  of  dealers,  one  of  the  men  said,  im- 
patiently, "'Boys,  stand  back!  Go  'way.' 
What  do  you  want  heij?  This  is  no  place  for 
boys." 

"  I  want  to  sell  sorr    oil,"  said  Arthur. 

"  O,  yon  do !     What  you  got  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  barrels  crude,  at  the  deliv- 
ering tank  of  the  Blowall  Pipe  Line." 

"Give  you  $3.26." 

"Guess  not,"  said  Arthur;  "  I  just  heard 
offers  as  high  as  $4.10." 

The  man  found  he  could  not  cheat  Arthur, 
and  so  moved  away.  Three  or  four  dealers, 
attracted  by  the  novel  sight  of  the  boys  doing 
business  there,  had  gathered  around.  In  a  few 
minutes  Arthur  sold  his  oil  to  one  of  these 
men  for  $4.25.  He  first  deducted  two  barrels 
for  each  hundred,  which  the  Pipe  Line  re- 
tained to  make  itself  good  for  leakage.  This 
left  him  four  hundred  and  ninety  barrels  to 
fell.  This,  at  $4.25  per  barrel,  came  to 
$2,082.50,  as  Arthur  figured  it  up.  The  pur- 
chaser reckoned  it,  and  at  first  made  a  mistake 
of  over  one  hundred  dollars. 

He  said,  "  I  guess  you've  made  a  mistake, 
young  man." 

"  May  be  I  have;  PU  work  it  again,"  replied 
Arthur. 

Fred,  meantime,  picked  up  the  paper  the 
man  had  been  figuring  upon,  and  reviewed 
his  work.    In  a  minute  he  said,  respectfully,  — 

"Mister,  haven't  you  made  a  mistake?" 
And  he  pointed  out  the  error. 

The  man  looked  at  it  a  minute,  and  then, 
with  much  confusion  at  being  caught  in  a 
blunder  by  a  bov,  said,  — 


P  1:  T  R  O  L  I  A  .  59 

"Yes,  yes,  I  presume  your  figiues  are  all 
right." 

"  I  am  sure  they  are,"  said  Arthur,  who  had 
by  this  time  been  over  them  twice.     "  Two 
thousand  and  eight"-two  fifty  is  correct." 
"  How  much  is^'ourpipeage.'"  asked  theman. 

"  Twenty-five  cents  per  barrel,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Well,  take  that  out.  How  much  does  it 
amount  to?"  asked  the  man. 

Arthur  quickly  found  that  the  tankage  would 
be  ore  hundred  and  twenty-two  dollars  and 
fifty  cents.  Subtracting  this  amount  from  the 
first  one,  Arthur  found  the  balance  to  be  one 
thousand  nine  hundred  and  sixty  dollars. 
For  this  sum  the  purchaser  gave  them  a  check 
on  an  Oil  City  bank.  Tlicy  took  the  check  to 
the  bank,  and  asked  the  cashier  to  give  them 
a  certificate  of  deposit  for  the  money,  which 
he  did.  This  certificate  of  deposit  they  could 
sell  precisely  as  they  had  sold  the  accepted  or- 
der for  oil. 

When  the  man  paid  them  for  the  oil,  he  took 
out  two  five  c*  ...ar  bills  and  gave  one  to  each 
of  the  boys,  saying,  "You  just  keep  mum 
about  that  mistake  of  mine  !  "  The  boys  said 
they  would  keep  still  about  it,  if  he  wanted 
them  to,  without  the  money,  and  tried  to  make 
him  take  it  back.  He  said,  "O,  that's  all 
right;  keep  it.  If  you  don't  want  it,  send  it 
home  to  your  sisters,  if  you've  got  any,  to 
buy  dolls  with."  And  so  he  left  them.  Fred 
said, — 

"  Well,  he's  a  funny  man.     Good  one.  too." 

"I  guess  he's  got  some  girls  and  boys  of 
his  own  at  home,"  said  Arthur. 

When  the  boys  got  back,  uncle  Charley 
praised  them  for  managing  the  business  so 
well,  and  told  them  they  might  market  all  the 
oil  thereafter.  So,  as  often  as  five  hundred 
barrels  of  oil  accumulated,  and  the  market 
was  up  to  a  good  paying  price,  the  bo^'s  made 
a  sale  of  it.  They  soon  became  as  well  known 
"  on  change,"  as  any  of  the  old  oil  men.  They 
were  prompt,  accurate,  bright,  and  civil,  and 
at  the  same  time  fresh  and  boy-like,  so  that 
everybody  liked  to  see  them,  and  deal  with 
them.  FVed's  theory  was  a  good  one;  most 
of  the  men  had  families  and  children  at  home, 
far  away,  and  liked  to  be  reminded  of  them  by 
the  presence  of  a  couple  of  good,  bright  boys. 
The  boys  found  ready,  good-natured  answers 
to  their  numerous  questions,  and  so  they  soon 
became  well  posted  regarding  everything  con- 
nected with  the  business. 

One  day  a  famous  oil-broker,  who  had  taken 
quite  a  fancy  to  them,  said, — 

"Boys,  oil  is  going  up  soon.  Why  don't 
you  hold  ynurs  for  a  rise?" 


"Uncle  doesn't  think  it  is  going  up,  and  he  '  million  :ind  a  half  of  dollars  hy  the  same  rise 

says  sell,"  answered  Arthur.  on   oil   they  held.     Onlv  Arthur  learned   they 

'•  Your  unele  isn't  posted.  I'll  tell  you  what  did  not  buy  or  own  the  oil  they  had  made 
you  do.  Let  jour  uncle  sell  his  share,  if  he  their  money  on  at  all.  They  only  took  '■  op- 
wants  to,  and  you  store  your  share  sixty  days,  tions "  on  it.  and  then,  when  it  went  up, 
and  see  who  comes  out  ahead."  sold    it    for    the    latest    price,    and    paid    the 

The  boys  thought  the  matter  over,  and  llnal-  real  owners  the  old,  low  price.     This  is  what 

ly  cone  luded   to   hold  /(//-^  of  their  oil.  as   the  they   call    "bulling"   the   market  —  as   if  they 

broker  advised.     So   they  hired   tankage,   and  had    ]nit    horns    uiuler    the    piice    of  oil,   and 

had  five  hundred  barrels  of  their  share  stored,  raiseil  it.     ^\■hen,  hy  the  same  means,  the  price 


Uncle  Charley  told  them  they  would  lose  by 
not  selling;  but  they  were  determined  to  tiy 
it  on  one  lot.     Arthur  suid,  — 

'•The  price  is  low  now.  Everybody  s.ays  it 
can't  go  iiiHcft  lower.  If  we  see  it  decline  fast, 
we  can  sell  that  much  any  day,  and  not  lose 
much.  It  will  not  break  us  if  we  do  lo>e 
!-"imething  on  this  lot.  and  we  ivav  make." 

Tlie  result  proved  that  the  oil-broker  was  a 
better  judge  of  the  market  prospects  than  un- 
cle Charley.  In  less  than  a  month  oil  began 
to  advance.  In  ;  short  time  it  rose  three  dol- 
lars on  a  barrel,  and  the  boys  sohl.  They 
cleared  on  that  lot  one  tliousaiul  five  hundretl 
dollars  more  than  they  woulil  if  they  had 
sold,  and   that  much  more  than  uncle  Charley 


of  oil  was  fori:ed  down,  they  called  it  "•bear- 
ing" the  market  —  as  if  they  had  readied 
sharp  claws  up  and  puUeil  tlie  price  down. 

One  day  the  jiroprielor  of  a  big  oil  refinery 
at  CleM'land,  Ohio,  who  liail  got  ac(|uainted 
with  the  bovs.  anil  had  \isited  them  at  the 
Klag-and-Windmill  Well,  telegraphed  them  as 
I'lillow-  :  — 

•■  To  Arthur  and  Fred. 

••Klag-and-Windmill  Well: 
'•.Ship   me   eight   hundred  bbls.  crude,  and 
draw  for  amt.,  at  current  price  this  day. 

••  Wm.  Winsor." 

As  they  did  not  have  quite  so  nu.-:u  oil  on 
hand   as  this  order  called  for,  they  had  to  buy 


had  made  by  selling  before  the  ri-e.  The  fact  j  some  to  make  up  the  amount,  .\rthur  pro- 
was,  a  few  large  dealers  were  managing  mat-  ;  posed  to  go  to  Oil  City  and  buy  it;  but  his 
ters  so  as  to  force  the  market  up.  and  Arthur  uncle  said  thev  could  buy  it  a  little  under  the 
and  I'red  had  been  let  info  the  secret.  ,  market  at  some  of  the  wells  near  by.     Oil  be- 

This  same  "ring"  of  speculators  cleared  a  |  ing  now  on  the  decline,  with  a  prospect  of  its 


I 


PETROLIA. 


6i 


y^^^L 


vWi#/-| 


lie  same  rise 
earned  they 
V  had  made 
\y  took  '•  op- 
it  went  up, 
111  paid  the 
riiis  is  -wliat 
—  as  it"  tlicy 
of  oil,  and 
ns.  the  price 
jd  it  "bear- 
lad  reached 
CO  down. 
.'  oil  retinery 
t  aeiiiiainled 
them  at  the 
)hed  them  as 


[  Well  .■ 

i.  crude,  and 

s  day. 

.  Winsor." 

niu^u  oil  on 
y  haii  to  buy 

Arthur  pro- 
i-  it ;  but  Ills 
le  under  the 
by.  Oil  be- 
ospect  of  its 


I 

! 


"Now,  let's  smother  it!"  cried  Uncle  Charley. 


goin;^  "^till  lower  in  price,  owners  of  small 
lots  would  be  anxious  to  sell,  and  wovild  take 
less  tiian  current  market  rates,  in  anticipation 
of  ijetting  even  less  if  they  held  it.  The 
boys  soon  jiicked  up  enough,  here  and  there. 
to  fill  the  ortler,  ami  got  the  most  of  it  at 
prices  from  ten  to  thirty  cents  below  the 
market.     Tiiat  much  was  prolit. 

They  had  it  all  piped  to  the  railroad.  'J'luy 
then  went  to  the  office  of  the  Oil  Car  Trans- 
portation Co.,  and  engageii  cars  to  take  eight 
huiidi-ed  barrels  of  oil  to  Cleveland.  The 
cars  tliev  engaged  were  called  tdiik-cur^.  A 
tank-car  is  a  common  tlat  car.  with  two  wotxi- 
en  tanks  set  upon  it.  Each  of  these  tubs 
holds  forty  barrels,  making  each  car  carry 
eighty  barrels  of  oil  in  bulk.  Thus  the  cost 
of  barrels  is  saved.  It  took  ten  cars  to  carry 
the  oil  to  Cleveland. 

The  Blowall  Pipe  Company's  delivering 
tank  held  twenty  thousand  barrels  of  oil  when 
full.  It  was  located  as  near  the  railroad  track 
as  it  could  be  safe  from  the  fire  of  passing 
trains,  and  elevated  on  a  bank  higher  than 
the  track.  A  large  iron  pipe  from  the  tank  is 
laid  on  a  platform  ten  feet  high,  by  the  side 
of  the  track,  tor  several  rods.  To  this  pipe 
are  attached  long-nosed  spouts,  at  such  places 


as  will  bring  a  spout  opposite  each  tank  on  a 
train  of  oil  cars.  Each  spout  has  a  stop-cock, 
which  is  turned  by  a  wrench,  to  let  out  the  oil. 
This  platform,  with  its  pi)ies,  spouts,  &c.,  is 
called  a  sliippiiitr-rangc. 

Arthur  directeil  the  oil  train  to  haul  up  be- 
side the  shipping-range.  The  covers  to  the 
holes  in  the  tops  of  the  car-tanks  were  un- 
screwed and  taken  off.  The  spouts,  which 
were  attached  to  ''goose-necks,"  and  could  be 
turned  any  way,  were  placed  in  the  tanks. 
Arthur  and  Fred  now  went  through  on  the 
platl'orm.  and  turned  all  the  sto|i-cocks,  and 
the  oil  ran  furiously  into  all  the  twenty  tanks 
at  once  —  the  big  reservoir  of  oil  on  the  bank 
alo.e  forcing  it  through  with  a  great  pi-es- 
sure.  In  a  verv  few  minutes  the  tanks  were 
a'.i  full.  The  stop-cocks  were  turned,  the 
>  pouts  taken  up,  swung  around  on  the  plat- 
form, and  laid  down  alongside  of  the  main 
pipe.  The  Transportation  Company  then 
gave  Arthur  a  shipping  bill  or  receipt  for  the 
oil.  stating  how  much  oil  had  been  delivered 
on  the  cars,  to  whom,  where,  and  for  what  price 
it  was  to  be  carried.  This  bill  he  sent  by  mail  to 
Mr.  Winsor,  at  Cleveland.  Ho  then  went  to  the 
bank,  and  drew  a  draft  on  Mr.  Winsor  for  the 
amount  of  the  eight  hundred  barrels  of  oil. 


6« 


PETROL  I  A. 


While  the  hoys  were  at  Titusville,  on  this 
fJMsiness,  a  despatch  came  over  the  wires,  say- 
ing that  a  Rreat  fire  was  raginjj  on  the  Run, 
on  wliich  the  Fla-j-and-Windmil!  Well  was 
situated.     They  took  the  first  train  back. 

Lonfj  before  they  reached  the  spot,  they  saw 
the  smoke  and  i,''aie  of"  an  immense  conllagra- 
tion.  Ab  they  nearcd  the  spot,  they  saw  the 
grandest,  but  most  terrible  sight  they  had 
ever  seen  or  imaj^ined. 

No  one  knew  how  the  fire  commenced.  The 
first  warning  was  an  explosion,  and  a  sheet 
of  flame  f.om  a  small  tank,  a  few  rods  pbove 
the  Klag-and-Uindmill  Well.  The  fire  spread 
rapidly  after  being  once  started.  On  the  gas 
that  filleil  the  air,  the  flanies  leaped  from  well 
to  well,  and  from  t.nnk  to  tank.  Each  well 
became  a  burning  one.  The  flames  wreathed 
and  twined  up  the  tall  derricks,  which,  being 
dry,  and  saturated  with  oil,  burned  with  won- 
d-'ful  fury  and  brilliancy;  on  these  hi'ideis 
the  fire  climbed,  and  from  the  tops  soared  far 
up  into  the  air.  The  explotled  tanks  covered 
the  ground  with  oil,  and  this  soon  formed  a 
burning  riier,  which  flowed  down  the  moun- 
tain, destroying  all  before  it. 

The  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  had  been 
reached  by  the  liery  flood  before  the  boys  got 
there;  they  were  jusi  in  time  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  flag  at  the  top  of  the  derrick,  before  it 
fell.  Everythii  g  else  was  covered  and  con- 
cealed in  a  dense,  black  smoke  and  flames. 
The  volume  and  blackness  of  the  smoke  was 
!vonderful ;  it  made  such  a  coutra  ,t  and  back- 
ground to  the  flames,  that  belched  out  fro:  i 
the  midst  of  it,  that  th-y  .-esembled  flashes  and 
streaks  of  lightning  in  th;  blackness  of  night. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  flame  was  wrapped  and 
siTiothered  in  a  biack  swathing,  from  which  it 
was  coristantly  struggling,  with  fierce  roars, 
to  escape,  and  only  succeeding  partially.  ]n 
this  contest  between  smoke  and  flame,  it 
rose  two  or  three  hundred  feet  in  the  air, 
pitching  and  writhing  like  monstrous  birds  in 
warfare.  This  sight,  so  utterly  beyond  de- 
scription, and  disastrous  as  it  was,  held  Ar- 
thur and  Fred  spellbound  with  awe  and  admi- 
ration. All  they  had  ever^een,  read,  or  ima- 
gined did  not  equal  it.  One  man,  who  had 
seen  a  grand  volcanic  eruplion,  and  passed 
through  a  great  earthquake,  said  thi«  wps  a 
more  wonderful  sight  than  the  former,  and 
a  more  wonderful  scene  thai:  the  latter.  The 
heat  of  ten  thousand  barrels  of  burning  oil, 
with  the  gas  of  a  dozen  wells,  and  the  wood- 
work of  tanks,  engine-houses,  derricks,  build- 
ings, &c.,  thrown  in  for  kindlings,  drove  ev 
erybody  ha/fa  mile  back. 


Of  course,  nothing  could  be  done,  to  extin- 
guish such  a  maelstrom  of  fire  as  this.  When 
it  came  to  a  tank,  or  a  little  pond  of  water,  the 
conflagration  was  only  more  terrific;  the  con- 
test between  the  two  elements  added  new  and 
more  terrible  fury  to  the  flame.  All  the  fire 
engines  in  the  world,  playingon  this  Hre,  would 
not  have  stopped  it.  Water  never  can  put  out 
m  oil  fire.  The  only  thing  to  do  is,  to  confine 
it  and  let  it  burn  itself  out. 

The  fire  was  rapidly  making  its  way  down 
t'le  hill,  finding  new  material,  and  increasing 
its  volume  constantly.  In  its  course,  on  the 
river  bank,  lay  a  town,  and  numerous  big 
tanks  of  oil.  If  it  reached  there,  it  would  de- 
stroy all  this,  and  get  volume  enough  to  pour 
out  on  the  river,  and  cover  its  surface  with  a 
sheet  of  flame,  to  roll  down  aiid  destroy  all 
below.  No  one  could  tell  where  the  destruc- 
tion of  property,  and  perhaps  life,  would  en  J, 
if  the  bui  ning  s,.ream  flowed  on.  Worst  of  all, 
no  one  seemed  to  know  what  to  do;  hundreds 
of  men  stood,  as  if  jiaralyzed,  by  the  horrors 
of  the  conflagration. 

At  this  crisis,  uncle  Charley  called  all  the 
men  to  follow  him.  He  led  them  down  the 
Run,  below  the  fire,  and  began  to  throw  up  a 
dam,  to  stop  the  burning  oil.  This  effort,  at 
first,  did  not  succeed.  The  fiery  freshet 
reached  them  before  they  had  get  their  work 
done,  and  drove  them  off.  It  filled  the  dam 
with  a  seething,  roaring  flood  of  llaine,  and 
presently  poured  over  in  a  grand  cascade  of 
fire,  and  resumed  its  way  to  the  river. 

The  men  now  went  farther  down,  and  se- 
lecting a  spot  between  two  high  ledges  of 
rocks,  began  to  throw  up  another  dam.  The 
location  was  favorable,  the  time  to  work  in 
longer,  and  as  many  fresh  men  were  arriving 
every  minute,  Uiei  ;  was  more  help,  so  they 
did  much  better  execution.  The  spot  was 
covered  with  men  like  bees  in  a  hive,  and  as 
all  were  stalwart,  hard-working  tnen,  mostly 
young,  who  were  now  fighting  destruction  ofl:' 
their  own  property,  they  did  wonders.  Refore 
the  burning  stream  had  reached  the  spot  the 
dam  was  done. 

'•  Now,"  cried  uncle  Charley,  "  come  up  here, 
men,  with  your  shovels!  "  They  all  followed 
him  up  to  the  top  of  the  high  banks  of  their 
impromptu  dam.  Here  he  had  them  collect 
piles  of  loose  earth  on  the  brow  of  the  bank. 

"  What  is  this  for?  "  asked  several. 
"  Wait  and  see,"  said  their  self-elected  leadet. 

In  a  few  moments  the  first  waves  of  oil  and 
fire  began  to  pour  down  the  gulch  into  the  dam. 

"Now  let's  smother  it!"  shouted  uncle 
Charley.  ' 


r  i:  r  :<  ( )  L I A . 


"  H'>rr!\h  I  "  cried  the  men.  when  tlu-v  iiii- 
ierstood  the  plan  ;  "let's  smother  it  I"  And 
hundreds  of  shovels  sent  the  damp,  heavy 
earth  down  over  the  hurning  caldron. 

This  had  more  ctVect  tli  m  an  v  quantity  of 
water  could.     It  deadened  the  tlamc  somewhat.  I 


"And  how  do  you  pinpnse  to  get  this  infor- 
mation?" asked  uticle  Charley. 

"  By  the  direction  of  the  spirits,"  answered 
the  man. 

"  Well,"  said  uncle  Charley,  "  if  you  think 
tli.it   is   a   pretty  certain  way  to  locate  paying 


The  dam   retained  tlie   st»ea,n  until  the    (ire  !  wells,  why  don't  you  go  into  it  for  yoursell.' 
burned  itself  out.  sufficiently  so  that  the  Iresh     If  you'U  take  a  half  interest  and  pay  half  the 


avalanches  of  dirt  -sent  down  finally  covered 
and  smothered  it. 

In  this  fire,  twenty-eight  wells  and  their  rigs 
and  tanks,  and  fifty  thousand  barrels  of  oil, 
were  destroyed. 

The  Flag-and-VVindmill  Well  was  now  ru- 
ined again.  Its  production  had  been  steadily 
reducing,  until,  at  the  time  of  the  fire,  it  was 
not  paying  largely.  The  fire  finished  it.  and 
it  was  never  restored. 

Although  the  boys  and  'heir  uncle  lost  a 
large  amount  in  the  fire,  they  had.  on  the 
whole,  cleared  en:-inr|,  money,  so  that  each 
of  the  boys  had  $9,500  of  his  own. 


PART     VI. 


PROSPECTING     FOR     TERRITORY, - 
FINDING   "THE    BELT.' 


TTTITH  the  burning  of  the  Flag-and-Wind- 
»  V  mill  Well,  uncle  Charley,  and  Arthur, 
and  Fred  went  out  of  the  oil  business  in  that 
locality.  They  sold  their  lease  and  went  to 
search  for  other  oil  territory.  TI.ey  ha  I  be- 
come such  confirmed  "  greasers,"  —  the  boys, 
as  well  as  their  uncle,  —  that  they  were  less 
ready  than  ever  before  to  quit  the  business. 
The  excitement  of  seeking  gieasy  wealth, 
through  all  risks  and  obstacles,  had  become  a 
necessity  to  them. 

Several  weeks  were  spent  in  looking  for  ter- 
ritory that  promised  to  afford  paying  wells. 
In  those  places  where  the  best  wells  had  been 
found,  the  land  had  all  been  snatched  up  by 
sharp  and  early  speculators.  These  men  held 
their  leases  so  high,  demanding  so  large  a 
royalty  for  their  shares,  —  sometimes  reserving 
as  nigh  as  three  fourths  of  all  the  oil  found,  — 
that  the  boys  did  not  care  to  invest  and  take 
so  many  chances  to  get  so  little  oil  at  last. 
On  the  other  hand,  where  they  could  get  fa- 
vorable leases,  the  territory  was  not  prom- 
ising. 
One  day,  in  their  prospecting  for  territory, 


expense,  we'll  put  down  a  well  as  you,  or  the 
spirits,  direct."  This  the  man  declined  to  do. 
At  another  time  they  came  across  another 
kind  of  "  oil-smeller."  as  they  are  called,  lie 
took  a  forked  stick,  cut  from  a  hazel-bush, 
and  holding  the  two  ends  of  the  fork  in  his 
hands,  with  the  joined  end  of  the  twig  up- 
ward, he  walked  slowly  over  the  land  where 
it  was  sujjposed  oil  might  be  found.  At  cer- 
tain points  the  twig  bent  slowly  downward, 
from  an  upright  position,  until,  without  hav- 
ing turned  the  ends  in  the  man's  hands,  it 
pointed  straight  towards  the  earth.  lie 
claimed  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  its  point- 
ing down,  and,  in  fact,  that  he  was  not  able 
to  stop  its  turning.  In  proof  of  this,  he 
showed  that  the  bark  had  been  twisted  and 
loosened  where  he  held  it  in  his  hands. 

This  mystified  the  boys  very  much.  They 
asked  their  uncle  what  made  the  twig  turn 
down. 

"The  man  says  it  is  the  oil  in  the  ground 
that  attracts  it,  and  pulls  it  over,  as  the  north 
pole  does  the  needle  of  the  compass." 

"Cut  does  it?  Is  it  oil?"  asked  the  incred- 
ulous boys. 

"Well,"  said  their  uncle,  cautiously,  "I 
never  heard  of  hazel-twigs  pointing  out  any 
rich  territory.  It  is  called  witch-hazel,  be- 
cause people  have  supposed  it  had  some  super- 
natural powers,  like  a  witch.  But  I  have  seen 
twigs  from  the  peach  and  other  trees  act  the 
same  way.  So  I  guess  there  is  about  as  much 
witch  in  one  tree  as  in  another,  and  none  in 
any  of  them,  if  foolish  men  let  them  alone 
/do  .1  a  cent  on  territory  located  by  su- 
pernatural means.  There  are  those  who  do. 
however,  and  they  sometimes  get  paying  wells, 
though  not  any  more  frequently,  or  any  more 
surely,  than  where  wells  are  located  entirely 
by  wild-catting." 

"  What  is  wild-catting?"  asked  Fred. 
"What   we   are   at.      We   are    'wild-cats,' 
prowling  around   the  country,  seeking  to  de- 
vour a  good  show,"  answered  the  uncle. 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  the 


they  met  a  man  who  ofiered  to  tell  them  ex-  party  l«ad  been  sitting  on  a  ledge  of  rocks 
actly  where  they  could  find  a  good  well,  by  overlooking  a  wild  and  romantic  Tcene.  The 
bori'  sr,  if  they  would  pay  him  five  iiundred  dot-  Alleghany  River  ran  far  b^low  them,  and  lh«>y 
lars  for  the  information.  ,  could  trace  its  winding  course  for  many  miles. 


64 


PETROL  I  A. 


Its  white  strip  tnroui,'h  the  dark  lanilscape  of 
mountain  nnd  forest  lookcil  likf  n  silver  band 
on  a  velvet  cloak,  Fred  Miid.  Ileie  and  there 
the  dark  backj;r<>iind  was  also  sperkleil  willi 
white,  where  the  fsteani  of  an  enKi'ic  showed 
a  live  oil  well.  On  the  other  side  was  a  wild 
ravine,  down  which  a  small  stream  fretted  and 
roared.  While  uncle  Charlev  and  Fred  were 
enjoyin;^  the  scenery  and  commenting  on  it. 
Arthur  was  differently  engaged.  He  was 
looking  about  him,  but  with  a  purpose  in 
view.  Me  became  so  interested  in  what  he 
was  investigating,  that  he  left  the  party,  and. 
going  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  climbed  a  tn'c. 

"  What  are  you  after.'"  at  length  cried  his 
uncle;  "have  you  treed  a  coon?  I  should 
think  you  were  '  wild-catting'  in  earnest." 

"  I  am,"  said  Arthur. 

Presently  he  came  down  from  the  tree,  and 
told  them  what  he  had  discovered.  He  said 
that  he  had  noticed  that  the  point  where  they 
sat  down  was  on  a  line  between  the  producing 
territory  on  the  river  and  that  on  the  creek. 
By  climbing  the  tree  he  had  discovered,  still 
further,  that  the  puffs  of  steam  from  engine- 
houses,  which  indicated  operating  wells,  were 
Almost  all  in  a  line,  sighting  from  the  tree, 
both  on  the  river  and  on  the  erf  i  '■,  six  miles 
apart.  Off  that  line  there  were  n  ,  derricks, 
but  no  life;  they  were  dry  wells:  ,  gines  and 
working    beams    were     motiot  ''Now, 

what  does  that  mean.'"  thought  i^ithur. 

'•  It  means  that  those  wells  that  are  produ- 
cing are  on  an  oil-belt,  as  it  is  called.  There 
may  be  two  belts,  one  on  the  river  and  one  on 
the  creek.  If  both  developments  are  on  the 
same  belt,  and  we  are  on  the  direct  line  be- 
tween them,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  belt 
runs  right  through  under  this  spot." 

Uncle  Charley  grew  excited  as  he  rapidly 
tc!d  this  theory  off  to  the  boys.  He  was 
walking  quickly  towards  the  tree  from  which 
Arthur  had  f'escended,  talking  and  gesticulat- 
ing, as  he  v.ent.  He  climbed  the  tree,  and 
looked  long  and  carefully  ovnr  the  many 
miles  of  territoi  j  spread  out  before  him.  In 
all  that  vast  area  the  producing  wells  lay  in 
one  line,  as  Arthur  had  described.  While 
there  were  hundrecs  of  cWrricks  in  sight,  the 
derricks  of  the /ifc  wells  were  in  a  line  that 
he  could  look  across  almost  as  he  could  along 
a  row  of  shade  trees. 

"  I  declare,  boys  !  "  cried  he,  excitedly,  from 
his  high  lookout,  "I  believe  we've  rtrurl.  a 
big  thing.     I  believe  we're  on  the  same  belt." 

"  How  are  we  going  to  find  out  for  certain  ?  " 
asked  Fred,  when  Iws  uncl.e  had  descended. 

"  That's  the  question  now  before  the  meet- 


ing," replied  uncle  Charley.  "If  the  wclU 
over  the  other  ^ide  of  the  river  and  these  up 
here  on  the  creek  are  alike  in  depth,  and  ap- 
pearance of  oil,  and  of  the  rocks  bored  through, 
I  should  be  inclined  to  think  they  are  all  on 
one  belt.  And.  of  course,  if  they  arc,  all  this 
territory,  for  six  miles  on  the  direct  line  be- 
tween them,  is  on  that  belt  also,  and  will  be 
good  ten  itory,  though  no  one  suspects  it  now." 

"Then  we  can  lease  this  territory  cheaply, 
if  we  want  to,  I  sui)pose;  '  said  Arthur. 

••  Yes;  or  buy  it  out  almost  at  our  own  fig- 
ures. These  'Buckwheats'  don't  know  any- 
thing about  its  value,"  said  his  uncle. 

"Buckwheats!"  said  the  boys;  "what  are 
they .' " 

"Ah."  said  his  uncle,  laughing,  "that's  a 
slang  name  some  people  give  to  the  farmers 
and  residents  in  the  woods  here.  Their  land 
is  so  poor  it  won't  raise  nnich  but  buckwheat; 
so  the  people  live  on  it  so  much,  they  get  that 
name."  Uncle  Charley  acted  as  if  rather 
ashamed  of  having  used  it. 

"We  are  Buckwheats,  then,"  said  Fred. 
"  Our  land  at  home  is  as  poor  as  this,  and  we 
eat  lots  of  buckwheat;  and  I  like  it,  too.  And 
I  don't  care  if  you  call  me  a  Buckwheat." 

They  now  arranged  that  Arthur  should  go 
up  the  creek,  where  the  wells  were  pumping, 
and  uncle  Charley  go  over  the  river,  a;id  each 
find  out  all  he  could  .ibout  the  wells- there. 
Then  they  were  to  meet  and  compare  notes, 
and  see  if  the  wells  in  the  two  localities  re- 
sembled each  other. 

They  went.  By  questioning  the  owners  and 
drillers  of  the  different  wells  they  learned 
what  those  men  knew.  In  nearly  all  the 
shanties,  or  in  the  engine-houses  adjoining 
the  wells,  or  else  in  the  offices  of  the  owners 
of  the  wells,  were  preserved  specimens  of  the 
different  kinds  of  rocks  found  in  each  well. 
They  asked  for  little  specimens  of  these  to 
compare  with  similar  ones  from  all  the  other 
wells. 

When  they  had  collected  all  these  facts  and 
specimens  they  brought  them  together.  It 
turned  out  as  uncle  Charley  had  suspected : 
these  wells,  six  miles  apart,  separated  by  a 
mountain,  were  almost  exactly  alike  There- 
fore they  concluded  that  they  could  find  good 
wells  all  along  the  line,  or  belt,  six  miles  be- 
tween these  developments. 

They  were  so  well  satisfied  of  it  that  they 
determined  to  put  down  a  well.  So  they  went 
to  the  house  of  the  man  who  owned  the  farm 
they  wa  ited  to  lease.  It  was  an  old  log- 
house.  The  spaces  between  the  logs  were 
filled  with  sticks  and  mud.    The  timbers  of 


I 


4 

* 

r  the  wcll» 

ul  these  up 

A 

th,  and  np- 

/m 

eil  through, 

^k 

V  are  nil  on 

IG 

ire,  nil  this 

jy 

ect  line  be- 

Nt 

md  will  be 

r? 

cts  it  now." 

kk 

P  E  T  R  O  L  I  A . 


<^ 


\y  cheaply, 
hiir. 

ur  own  tig- 
know  aiiy- 
:le. 
"  what  are 


,  "that's  a 
the  farmers 
Their  land 
l)uckwheat; 
icy  get  that 
3    if  rather 

said  Fred, 
his,  and  we 
t,  too.  And 
heat." 

should  go 
3  pumping, 
r,  a;id  each 
veils-  there, 
pare  notes, 
icalities  re- 
owners  and 
ley  learned 
rly  all  the 
i  adjoining 
the  owners 
lens  of  the 

each  well. 
3f  these  to 
.11  the  other 

bc  facts  and 
gether.  It 
suspected  : 
rated  by  a 
ke  There- 
d  find  good 
ix  miles  be- 

t  that  they 

0  they  went 
:d  the  farm 
in   old  log- 

1  logs  were 
timbers  of 


Prospf.cting. 


the  roof  prnifcfoil  sevoral  foot  from  tlu'  sido 
of  the  hou'-c.  ;uicl  wiro  loo>ely  lovori'il  willi 
slabs  to  make  a  ■•veraiula"  in  front  of  the 
hou>L'.  The  hinges  and  latch  of  the  one  door 
to  the  housf  were  wood.  Numerous  hats  and 
garments  were  stutfeil  in  the  broken  panes  of 
the  small  windows.  They  stepped  on  the 
loose  boards  that  formed  the  tloor  of  the  ve- 
randa, and  knocked.  A  grutf  voice  from 
witliin  pronounced  the  single  word,  — 

••  Walk'." 

Not  understanding  this  ren'ark.  and  in  un- 
certainty as  to  ti.e  t^r^t  knock  having  been 
heard,  they  tapped  louder  on  the  door. 

"  Walk  !  "  this  time  louder  and  grutTer  than 
before. 

They  opened  the  door  and  entered.  The 
owner  of  the  farm  was  eating  his  dinner,  llis 
wife  and  two  boys  had  apparently  dined  be- 
fore; for  he  was  seated  alone  at  the  table. 
The  single  room  below  was  roughlv  finished 
and  furnished.  A  fireplace  in  one  end.  and  a 
ladder  in  the  other,  where  the  boys  went  up 
to  bed  through  a  hole  in  the  loose  tloor  above, 
attracted  the  visitors'  attention. 

The  meal  sp'-ead  before  the  farmer  consisted 
of  one  dish.  That  was  fat  pork  swimming  in 
its  own  grease.     There  was  no  bread,  butter. 


'  potatoe: nothing   but   that   one   di>h.     The 

fanner  scraped  tlu'  entire  contents  of  the  dish 

Of  his  phite.  anu   ite  it. 

!       He   was    a     iliin,    dark-complexioned,    un- 

I  comb,  1,    cideilv   man.     Ilis    boots   were    not 

mates.       He    nore    no    vesi. :     his    suspenders 

were  a  coniponiid   of   tow-string  and  leather. 

One     of     them     had     a    sort   of    buckle,    the 

tongue  to  which  was  gone.     In   place  of  it  he 

I  stuck    u    shingle-nail    through   the   sti'ap,  to 

j  hold   it.     When   he  wanted  to  take  a  hitch  in 

his  suspender  he  would  move  the  nail  up  one 

,  hole. 

I'nde   Charley  comn-.^nced   negotiation   bv 
asking  the  farmer  how  much  land  he  owned. 
1       "  Wal.    I    consider  tnere's    dus   ontew   two 
hundred  and  sixty  acres  on't,"  replied  he. 

"  Do  you  think  any  of  it  will  ever  be  oil 
territory.'"  asked  uncle  Charlev. 

"  Reckon  not.  How  could  ile  git  up  so  fur's 
this.'  Guess  we'll  alwus  be  scace  nn't  for  ile 
up  here."  , 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  let  some  one  test 
your  land  for  oil.  if  it  cosi;  you  nothing.'" 

"  Dunno  but  I  mout.  if  he  didn't  git  too 
near  the  house,  and  spile  my  yard." 

His  ■'  yard  "  was  a  patch  of  weeds  in  which 
several  long-legged,  long-ftosed  pigs,  and  two 


66 


PETROLIA. 


or  three  tliin  calves   and  a  multitude  of  geese 
pastured. 

"  Well,"  said  uncle  Charley,  "  I  don't  know 
as  there  is  a  foot  of  oil  on  youv  farm  ;  but 
thej  are  finding  oil  in  a  good  man\'  queer 
places  now,  and  no  one  knows  but  we  might 
happen  to  strike  a  smell  even  up  here.  We've 
got  a  little  money  to  thri^w  away  on  an  exper- 
iment, and  if  you've  a  mind  to  give  us  a  lease, 
we'll  sink  a  hole  to  venture.  Vhat  do  vou 
say.'" 

The  farmer  bit  a  large  piece  off  a  big  plug 
of  tobacco,  took  out  a  huge  jackknife,  and 
commenced  to  whittle  it  the  side  of  the  house, 
and  finally,  turning  to  his  wife,  said,  — 

"What  d'ye  say,  old  woman.?  Woald  you 
let  'em  bore  a  hole  in  our  land.'" 

The  •'  old  woman "  didn't  like  the  idea. 
She  said,  — 

"  'S  like's  not  the  critters'll  ,ie  falling  down 
the  ile  well,  'n  gettin'  drownded." 

At  this,  Fred,  with  a  boy's  irreverence  and 
love  of  a  joke,  laughed,  and  said  to  Arthur, 
"  he  presumed  tliey  would  if  they  were  all  as 
small  as  those  out  in  the  yard."  The  farmer 
did  not  hear  this  remark  plainly;  so  he  leaned 
forward,  and  looked  at  Fred,  and  said,  — 

"Hay?" 

Fred  looked  confused,  and  made  no  answer 
to  the  interrogatory.  Then  the  farmer  said, 
bluntly,  — 

"  Youngsters  should  be  seen,  and  not 
heerd." 

Ihen,  resuming  the  subject,  he  said,  — 

"I  am  afeard  ye'll  litter  mj' farm  all  up; 
and  if  you  strike  one  of  them  flowing  veils, 
everything  will  be  all  daubed  up  with  i  e.  I 
won't  have  the  looks  of  my  farm  spiled  in 
that  way." 

These   and    many  other  similar  objections 
uncle  Charley  talked  out  of  the  way,  and  at 
last  got  them   to   consent   to  make  a  lease. 
After  this  was  done,  he  had  still  more  objec- 
tions to  overcr   le,  to  get  them  to  put  into  the 
'.ease     an    "option    clause,"    by   which    the.' 
would  give  uncle  Chavley  the  power  to  duj 
the  farm    at   any  time  within  a  year.     This 
was  finally  arranged  by  putting  in  the  option 
clause  with  the  price  stated  at  one  hundred 
dollars  per  acre,  whidi   uncle  Charley  should 
pay,    if    he    decided    to   buy   the   land.      The 
'farmer  said  his  land  was  worth,  for  farming 
purposes,  about  ten  dollars  per  acre;   and  he  j 
thought,  when  he  put  in  the  price  at  one  hun-  ' 
dred  dollars  per  acre,  he  had  got  it  so  high 
there  was   no   danger  of  these   meddlesome 
Yankees  ever  paying  that  sum,  and  taking  his  j 
farm  away  from  him,  which  calamity  was  the  | 
thing  he  sought  to  avert. 


ip-afc.,. 


Even  then  the  old  lady  did  not  think  they 
were  entirely  safe  from  scheming  strangers 
seeking  to  pay  them  ten  times  the  value  of 
their  land.  She  '■  was  afeard  they'd  be 
shunted  clean  out  o'  house  and  hum."  So 
she  insisted  they  should  leave  out  of  the  con- 
tract their  house  and  barn  (a  low  shed),  and 
five  acres  of  land,  which  could  noc  be  sold. 
To  please  her  the  contract  was  so  drawn. 

It  took  two  or  three  days'  negotiation  to 
talk  them  into  the  agreement  and  get  the  pa- 
pers signed.  They  immediate'y  let  the  con- 
tract to  have  the  well  drilled.  They  employed 
a  surveyor  to  run  a  line  directly  from  the 
biggest  wells  on  the  river  to  the  best  ones  on 
the  creek.  He  marked  the  line  by  "blazing" 
the  trees  that  grew  upon  it.  "Blazing  "was 
done  by  cutting  a  chip  out  of  one  side  of  a 
tree  with  an  axe.  While  running  this  line 
through  a  ravine  on  the  farm  they  had  leased, 
they  discovered  a  coal  mine.  This  gave  them 
cheap  fuel  to  run  their  engine  with.  Other 
wells  were  supplied  by  hauling  coal  up  the 
mountain  from  the  river—  a  tedious  and  cost- 
ly business. 

All  indications  were  favorable,  as  the  well 
went  down.  In  about  three  months  they  had 
gone  down  nine  hundred  feet,  and  the  flow  of 
gas  and  "  show  "  of  oil  from  the  second  sand 
was  large;  fio  much  so,  that  they  felt  sure  of 
success. 

The  old  farmer  did  not  shaie  their  hopes. 
He  came  occasionally  to  see  iiow  they  were 
getting  along,  and  to  tell  them  they  "couldn't 
find  nothin'." 

Uncle  Charley  instructed  the  boys  and  the 
drillers  not  to  try  to  persuade  the  farmer  into 
hopefulness  of  success.  They  rather  took  the 
same  despondent  view  of  it  that  he  did.  Mean- 
time, uncle  Charley  was  carefully  talking  him 
around  to  completing  the  sale  of  the  land. 
In  fact,  the  old  farmer  was  so  sceptical  as  to 
the  oil  prospects  of  his  land,  that  he  consent- 
ed, before  the  well  war;  down,  to  sell  the  whole 
(^except  five  acres  and  his  house  and  ■•  barn  ") 
for  seventy  dollars  an  acre,  and  thought  he 
had  a  good  bargain  at  that. 

While  this  negotiation  was  in  progress  the 
work  of  drilling  had  stopped.  The  drillers 
announced  that  the  tools  were  fast  in  the  well, 
one  thousand  feet  down,  and  spent  several 
days  working  over  it.  As  soon  as  the  sale  was 
made,  the  drillers  succeeded  in  bringing  out 
the  tools.  Uncle  Charley  was  there  when  the 
tools  were  drawn,  and  the  men  told  him  there 
v.ere  "  five  hundred  feet  of  oil  in  the  hole;  "  by 
which  they  meant  the  well  had  already  filled 
with  oil  to  that  depth. 


r 


■  <i|.i  ii*.iui|Kijmiu 


PETROLIA. 


67 


3t  tliink  thi*_y 
ig  stranijers 
the  value  of 
1  they'd  be 
1  luiiii."  So 
t  of  the  coii- 
.V  shed),  and 
HOC  be  sold, 
drawn, 
gotiation  to 
i  get  the  pa- 
let  the  con- 
ey employed 
ly  from  the 
best  ones  on 
y  "  blazing" 
lazing  "  was 
me  side  of  a 
iig  this  line 
'  had  leased, 
s  gave  them 
vith.  Other 
coal  up  the 
us  and  cost- 
as  the  well 
Lhs  tlicy  had 

I  tlic  How  of 
second  sand 

felt  sure  of 

their  hopes. 
IV  they  were 
;y  "couldn't 

\vs  and  the 
farmer  into 
her  took  the 
did.  Mean- 
talking  him 
if  the  land, 
optical  as  to 
he  consent- 

II  the  whole 
id  ••  barn  ") 
thought  he 

srogress  the 
rhe  drillers 
in  the  well, 
lent  several 
the  sale  wa^ 
ringing  out 
re  when  the 
d  him  there 
le  hole;  "  by 
Ireadv  filled 


PART    VII. 


TLAGhAND-'WINDMILL    "WELL   NO.    2.- 
CONCLUSION. 


I 


'  I  ""HE  well  was  speedily  iinished.  the  pump 

■»•  and  tubing  put  in,  and,  in  a  few  days, 
the  well  was  pumping  steadily  at  the  rate  of 
forty-four  barrel;  per  day.  This  strike  was 
the  greatest  fortune  the  '  boy  operators  "  had 
enjoyed.  As  the  land  itself  belonged  to  them 
and  uncle  Charley,  they  owned  ali  the  oil 
produced. 

As  soon  as  t!e  news  of  this  strike  on  a  "  new 
belt"  had  got  abroad,  —  which  it  did  very 
speedily,  —  crowds  of  operators  and  specula- 
tors came  to  see  it.  Everyone  was  astonished 
to  see  such  a  well  in  such  an  unexpected  lo- 
cality. The  boys  and  their  uncle  were  over- 
run with  applicants,  eager  to  get  leases,  and 
give  the  owners  half  the  oil.  As  the  excite- 
ment increased,  higher  olTers  were  made  for 
leases,  until  several  oftered  to  pay  two  thousand 
dollars  for  the  chance  to  put  down  wells,  and 
give  half  the  oil  obtained.  This  extra  price  of- 
fered for  the  privilege  of  a  lease  is  called  a  bonus. 

Uncle  Charley  now  called  the  boys  into  the 
engine-house,  and  baid,  — 

"  Well,  boys,  we've  got  a  big  thing.  The 
well  is  a  good  one,  and,  what  is  better,  we 
own  all  the  territory  near  it.  Now,  what  sHrII 
we  do?  ShuU  we  go  on  and  put  down  the 
wells,  and  thus  secure  all  the  oil  for  our  share  ? 
or  shall  we  give  other  parties  half  the  oil,  if 
they  will  be  at  the  expense  of  sinking  wells? 
Shall  we  develop  the  territory  ourselves,  or 
lease  it?" 

Arthur  said,  "  What  bonus  can  we  get  for 
leases?" 

"  Three  thousand  dollars  on  each  acre  lease 
is  now  offered,"  replied  the  uncle. 

"  And  how  much  does  it  cost  to  sink  a  well 
ourselves?"  asked  Fred. 

"About  five  thousand  dollars,"  he  replied. 

"  So,"  said  Arthur,  "if  we  give  leases,  we 
get  and  save,  together,  on  each  acre,  eight 
thousand  dollars." 

"Eight  thousand  dollars,"  repeated  his  un- 
cle.    "  And  we  run  no  risks." 

"  But,  then,  we  get  only  half  the  oii  "  put  in 
Fred.  "  So  we  do  run  a  risk  of  losing  half  the 
oil  on  a  good  well.  We  don't  know  but  we 
may  strike  a  two  or  three  hundred  barrel 
wcU." 

"That's  so,"  said  his  uncle.  "And,  if  we 
should,  half  of  the  oil  would  pay  all  the  ex- 
pense of  sinking  the  well  in  a  short  time." 


"  I  think,"  said  Arthur,  "  that  we  had  better 
put  down  more  wells  ourselves,  until  we  find 
out  what  kind  of  a  belt  we  have  got.  If  it 
improves,  we  can  make  better  leases  than  we 
can  now,  with  only  one  well  down.  If  it 
proves  no  better  than  at  present,  we  can  al- 
ways make  plenty  of  money  out  of  it,  either 
to  hold  and  develop  for  ourselves,  or  to  lease 
to  others.  We  have  money  enough  to  put 
down  half  a  dozen  wells." 

"For  that  matter,"  said  his  uncle,  "this 
well  will  furnish  all  the  capital  we  need  to 
carry  on  our  operations." 

So  they  agreed  to  grant  no  lewises  at  pres- 
ent, but  to  go  on  and  sink  more  wells  for 
themselves.  They  therefore  announced  to  all 
applicants  that  there  was  no  territory  to  sell 
or  lease  on  that  farm. 

The  operators  immediately  bought  —  or 
leased,  if  they  could  not  buy  —  all  the  farms 
around  the  new  territory.  As  most  of  these 
were  not  on  the  belt  which  Arthur  had  dis- 
covered, —  the  operators  not  being  possessed 
of  the  secret  of  its  location,  —  but  little  of  the 
territory  produced  oil.  A  narrow  belt  of  land, 
north-east  and  soi'^h-west  of  the  one  the  boys 
owned,  proved  to  be  rich  territory.  All  the 
i'est  showed  dry  holes. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  call  this  well  and 
farm  ?  "  asked  Fre'd. 

Arthur  said  he  would  like  to  call  the  well 
"Flag-ancI-Windmill  Well  No.  2,"  in  remem- 
brance of  their  first  fortune  in  oil. 

"  That  is  ali  right,"  said  his  uncle.  "  And, 
as  you  first  discovered  this  belt,  I  think  we'd 
better  call  this  the  'Arthur  T"act.'  " 

Arthur  felt  highly  complimented  by  this, 
but  said  he'd  like  to  have  Fred's  name  men- 
tioned in  some  way. 

"O,  we'll  give  Fred's  name  to  the  next  big 
well  we  strike,"  said  uncle  Charley. 

Fred  said  that  was  satisfactory. 

They  now  let  the  contract  to  sink  three  more 
wells,  near  the  Flag-and-Windmill  No.  2.  In 
prosecuting  this  work,  they  hit  upon  one  or 
two  plans  that  economized  the  work  and  saved 
them  a  large  sum  of  money.  With  the  oil 
from  the  Flag-and-Windmill  Well  No.  2  an 
immense  quantity  of  gas  came  forth.  It  rose 
from  around  the  casing,  and  from  the  tank 
into  which  the  oil  was  pumped,  looking  like 
waves  of  hot  air  from  a  fur..ace,  or  from  the 
surface  of  the  ground  on  a  sultry  day.  To 
secure  it  from  spreading  and  taking  fire  from 
the  engine-house,  they  had  connected  a  pipe 
with  the  well,  and  conducted  it  a  hundred  feet 
away.  They  then  set  fire  to  it  at  the  end  of 
the  pipe.     It  burned  with  a  body  of  flame  as 


PETROLIA. 


targe  as  a  hogshead,  and  twenty  or  thirty  feet 
long,  with  a  roar  like  escaping  steam  from  a 
large  boiler.  It  made  a  light  that  could  be 
seen  at  night  ten  miles  away. 

One  day,  ns  Fred  stood  looking  at  this  flame 
from  a  safe  dist.ince,  the  idea  occuired  to  him, 
"What's  the  use  of  wasting  all  this  fuel? 
Why  can't  we  make  use  of  it,  and  save 
coal  ?  " 

He  immediately  proposed  the  plan  to  his 
uncle.  Uncle  Charley  dcclaied  it  was  just  the 
thing,  and  muttered  to  himself,  — 

"What  an  idiot  I  have  been  not  to  think  of 
that  before!  It  would  have  been  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  in  my  pocket  by  this  time." 

The  engineer,  to  whom  they  submitted  the 
matter,  said  he  thought  it  would  work,  and 
added, — 

"You  have  gas  enough  to  heat  a  boiler  for 
a  dozen  engines." 

"  There's  another  good  idea,"  exclaimed 
Fred.  "  Instead  of  buying  a  boiler  with  each 
engine,  why  not  get  one  boiler  that  will  make 
steam  for  four  or  six  engines?  Will  one  big 
boiler  cost  as  much  as  six  small  ones?" 

"  Not  half  as  much,"  said  his  uncle.  "And 
it  will  save  an  engineer  at  each  well.  One 
man  ,;an  run  four  or  six  engines,  with  one  fire. 
Fred,  that's  a  good  idea.     You're  a  trump." 

Although  Fred  didn't  know  exactly  what 
kind  of  an  animal  a  "trump"  was,  he  under- 
stood he'd  suggested  a  valuable  improvement. 

It  proved  to  be  so.  The  big  boiler  was 
bought,  and  three  engines  without  any  boil- 
ers. By  purchasing  in  this  way,  they  saved 
twelve  hundred  dollars  on  the  start. 

When  the  boiler  was  set,  a  small  pipe  for  gas 
was  laid  into  the  furnace  under  it.  When  the 
stop-cock  was  turned,  and  the  gas  lighted  un- 
der the  boiler,  it  filled  the  furnace  and  flues 
full  with  roaring  flames.  It  made  steam  very 
fast,  the  heat  was  so  intense. 

When  they  first  started  this  supply  '-f  fuel, 
tkey  had  an  explosion.  They  had  to  uncap 
the  casing,  to  make  some  alteration  in  the 
tubing,  which  allowed  most  of  the  gas  to  es- 
cape at  the  opening  of  the  well.  The  pressure 
was  thus  reduced  in  the  gas-pipe,  and  the  cur- 
rent was  not  strong  enough  to  feed  the  flame, 
and  keep  it  clear  it  the  end  of  the  pipe.  The 
flame  followed  the  iream  of  gas  into  the  pipe, 
and  blew  up  the  whole  length  of  it,  and  set 
fire  to  that  around  the  well.  The  result  was 
a  fire  thai  burned  the  derrick.  It  stopped  it- 
self, nearly,  and  in  this  way:  The  iron  cap 
that  screws  on  the  top  of  the  casing  was  lifted 
only  a  little,  at  the  time  of  the  explosion,  and 
held  up  by  a  chip  placed  under  it.     As  soon 


as  the  chip  burned,  the  cap  dropped  of  itself, 
and  stopped  all  the  supply  of  gas,  except  what 
came  from  one  opening.  This  was  very  easily 
stopped  by  shovelling  damp  dirt  upon  it.  A*" 
this  was  not  a  flowing  wl'II,  there  was  no  oil 
to  s!;nply  a  fire.  A  conflagration  of  gas  alone 
is  eu-ily  managed. 

When  they  got  repairs  made,  and  the  pipe 
laid  to  the  boiler  again,  they  put  in  the  pipe 
a  valve,  called  a  check-valve,  which,  by  clos- 
ing as  soon  as  .-;  back-flow  of  gas  set  in,  would 
check  it.  The  check-valve  opens  only  for  a 
strong  current  of  gas  running  _/>o;»  the  well. 

By  laying  steam-pipes  from  the  big  boiler 
to  the  diffTent  engines,  an  abundant  supply 
of  steam  to  run  them  all  was  furnished.  As 
the  gas  cost  nothing,  there  was  no  expense  in 
making  steam. 

Nearly  as  many  people  came  to  see  this  new 
contrivance,  as  if  it  were  another  big  strike. 
Of  course  they  all  asked,  "  Who  was  the 
smart  chap  that  thought  of  that?"  When  the 
boy  Fred  was  pointed  out  as  the  inventor,  peo- 
ple were  still  more  surprised.  The  engineer 
got  some  paint,  and  lettered  the  big  boiler,  — 

Fred's  Patent  Heating  Apparatus. 

He  intended  the  "patent"  part  of  it  for  a 
joke;  but  half  the  visitors  believed  it  was  a 
patent;  and  one  sharp  man  tried  to  buy  the 
right  to  use  it  for  all  the  Oil  Country.  Fred 
frankly  told  him  it  was  no  patent,  and  any  one 
could  use  it  without  fee.  The  drillers  told 
Fred  he  was  a  fool;  that  he  ought  to  have 
sold  the  man  the  right,  if  he  was  green  enough 
to  buy  it. 

"  No,"  said  uncle  Charley,  who  overheard 
the  remark;  "Fred  was  right,  morally  and 
legally.  It  would  have  been  both  dishonest 
and  illegal  to  sell  a  fictitious  right.  It  would 
have  been  fraud,  and  Fred  would  have  gotten 
into  trouble  if  he  had  done  it.  So  you  men, 
that  are  ridiculing  Fred  for  not  cheating,  are 
really  the  foolish  ones  —  not  he.  I'd  advise  you 
never  to  try  to  live  by  your  wits  dishonestly. 
You'd  soon  play  out  for  want  of  capital." 

The  men  looked  rather  cheap  and  crest-fall- 
en at  being  thus  reproved  for  lack  of  both 
honor  and  brains. 

The  new  wells  proved  to  be  all  good  ones; 
one  of  them  flowed  one  hundred  barrels  per 
day  when  first  struck,  and  finally  settled  down 
to  pumping  seventy-five  steadily. 

Operators  now  were  willing  to  pay  as  high 
as  a  five  thousand  dollar  bonus  for  a  lease. 
Thus  the  decision  of  the  owners  of  the  Arthur 
Belt  to  develop  the.  own  territory  proved  a 
wise  one. 


\ 


{ 


PETROLIA. 


6^ 


Tliev  were  soon  getting  so  much  oil  that 
they  had  to  provide  a  pipe  line  to  pipe  it  to 
the  railroad  for  shipment.  A  pipe  company 
wanted  to  lay  this  line  ("or  them  ;  but  they  de- 
cided, as  in  the  matter  of  developing  the  farm, 
to  do  their  own  business,  —  or.  as  uncle  Char- 
ley expressed  it,  to  ••  run  their  own  machine." 
They  had  capital  enough  to  construct  the  pipe 
line,  tanks,  and  shipping-range  at  the  rail- 
road, and  had  already  steam  enough,  free  of 
cost,  to  operate  the  force-pump  to  send  the  oil 
over  to  the  shipping-range.  So  they  con- 
structed the  pipe  line,  and  thereafter  it  cost 
them  nothing  to  ship  their  oil. 

They  presently  built  a  neat  house  for  an  of- 
fice of  their  extcmsive  business  and  a  residence. 
Artluir  wrote  home  for  his  sister  Nell  v  to  come 
and  manage  the  house  for  them,  promising 
her  a  half  interest  in  a  good  well  for  her  sal- 
ary as  housekeeper.  Nelly  came,  and  made  a 
very  happy  home  for  them,  and  a  handsome 
little  purse  for  herself:  for  both  her  brothers 
and  uncle  insisted  on  sharing  their  good  for- 
tune with  her. 

They  now  had  on  the  Arthur  Tract  a  \ery 
complete  petroleum  farm.  With  the  land  and 
all  the  wells  belonging  to  them  •  an  abundant 
production  of  greasy  wealth  ;  the  almost  cer- 
tain promise  of  more,  whenever  they  pleased 
to  bore  more  wells;  a  well-systematized,  care- 
fully and  economically  managed  business;  a 
transportation  line  also  belonging  to  them, 
arranged  conveniently  to  throw  oil  from  any 
well  on  to  the  oil  cars  three  miles  away,  at 
any  moment,  —  they  had  the  snuggest  estab- 
lishment, and  the  best  prospect  of  great  wealth 
of  any  firm  in  the  Oil  Regions. 

Besides,  they  had  a  very  pleasant  home  in 
the  mountains.  Home  comfort  is  a  thing  much 
lacking  in  petroleum  life.  They  fitted  their 
house  up  elegantly,  as  became  young  oil 
princes.  Pleasant  grounds  were  enclosed  and 
beautified;  abundant  springs  from  the  moun- 
tains above  supplied  them  with  fountains  and 
fish  ponds,  which  Fred  took  pains  to  have 
abundantly  stocked  with  trout.  The  wild,  ro- 
mantic scenery,  pure  air  and  water,  added  to 


the  pleasure  of  all  this  wealth  and  comfort,  as 
well  as  contrasted  with  it. 

Artluir,  Fred,  and  Nelly  were  now  so  happy 
and  prosperous  that  they  only  lacked  the  com- 
pany of  their  parents  and  little  Lulu  to  make 
their  contentment  complete.  After  much  per- 
suasion.—  by  mail. — the  family  was  finally 
induced  to  sell  the  Massachusetts  farm,  and 
remove  to  the  Oil  Regions.  Each  one,  Ar- 
thur's father  included,  was  given  certain  dutie.s 
to  do.  Mr.  Sears,  being  a  good  mechanic,  was 
given  charge  of  all  the  engines  and  boilers, 
and  other  machinery  on  the  farm.  It  kept 
him  pretty  busy  to  see  them  all  kept  in  order. 

One  of  the  numerous  wells  they  sank  pro- 
duced no  oil,  but  it  did  send  forth  prodigious 
volumes  of  gas.  It  came  out  with  a  pressure 
that  roared  like  steam,  and  could  with  diffi- 
culty be  controlled.  Mr.  Sears  thought  this 
powerful  pressure  could  be  used  to  .<ome  good 
purpose.  .So  he  conveyed  the  gas  in  a  pipe 
into  the  force-pump,  used  for  piping  oil.  To 
his  satisfaction  and  the  astoinshment  of  every- 
body, the  gas,  when  turned  into  the  cylinder, 
operated  the  pump  better  than  steam.  Pipes 
were  now  laid  to  the  engines,  and  the  pressure 
proved  sullicient  to  run  them  all.  The  steam- 
gauge  showed  the  pressure  of  gas  to  be  over 
two  hundred  pounds  to  the  square  inch.  Thus 
boilers  and  fires  were  abolished,  and  all  the 
machinery  operated  by  a  power  furnislied  from 
the  same  source  with  the  oil. 

They  now  had  an  establishment  not  only 
rich  in  oil,  but  one  it  cost  nothing  —  or  al- 
most nothing — to  work.  With  the  certain 
prospect  of  immense  wealth  before  them;  with 
pleasant  home  surroundings ;  with  enough  to 
do  to  keep  them  healthy  and  contented,  and 
not  so  much  to  do  that  they  could  not  go  upon 
pleasure  excursions,  and  take  occasional  trips 
to  Europe;  with  plenty  of  means,  so  that 
they  could  enjoy  the  luxury  of  doing  good,  — 
in  which  best  way  of  all  they  spent  much 
money,  —  all  of  them  had  abundant  cause  to 
bless  the  day  they  came  to  Petrolia,  and  to 
thank  the  good  Father  above  for  the  abundant 
blessings  they  enjoyed. 


,^' 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


7« 


1  I 


o 

-3 


Sam  suddknlv  ukscenus.      Page  72. 


AMONG  THE  KAPTSMEN. 

BY    FRANK    11.    TAVI.OR. 

I -MAKING   RAFTS. 

IN  Western  N.  -v  ,'ork  anil  Xortlicrn  Penn- 
sylvania tlic  U^  TC  pine  forests,  which  once 
covered  the  gre:  '•■'•  portion  of  these  ■-ections, 
have  licen  cut  tlown  ami  converted  into  lum- 
her,  ami  floated  down  the  AUes^hany  and  Ohio 
Rivers,  to  he  used  in  Iniildinij  tlie  cities  npon 
their  banks.  .Some  of  tlie  lumber  has  even 
been  carried  to  New  Orleans;  and  we  niav. 
perhaps,  find  in  every  city,  from  New  Orleans 
up  tlie  Mississippi  a  i  Ohio  to  Pittsburg,  lum- 
ber which  urew  far  up  among  the  hills  of  West- 
ern New  York.  Where  this  timber  once  grew 
are  now  rich  farms.  \'illagcs  of  from  two  to 
ten  thousand  inhahitants  have  arisen  upon 
the  site  where  the  old  pilots  who  now  run  the 
river  once  cut  timber  for  their  rafts. 

Hut  the  want  of  jiine  timber  is  already  being 
felt,  and  hemlock  is  taking  its  place.  Trees 
that  fell  centuries  ago,  and  were  left  as  worth- 
less by  the  first  timber  hunters,  arc  now 
ihaggeil  forth  from  the  places  where  they  have 
lain  so  long,  and  all  available  portions  of  them 
used.  Logs  that  have  lain  unnoticed  until  the 
greater  ))ortion  of  them  has  deci.yed,  are  used 
for  shingles. 


rjut  the  raftsmen  still  keep  their  vocation. 
Each  spring  the  river  carries  down  thousands 
of  feet  of  lumber  to  the  Ohio  and  Missis- 
sippi cities,  and  all  through  the  year  car- 
loads of  timber  are  shipped  east  and  south. 
The  old  race  of  raftsmen,  however,  is  disap- 
pearing, and  with  it  tnany  of  the  incidents 
of  the  rough  life  which  lent  a  iieeuliar  charm 
to  a  trip  "  down  the  river." 

Fights  with  the  inhabitants  were  then  an 
every-d.ay  occurrence.  They  replenished  their 
tables  with  fowls  from  hen-roosts  and  mutton 
from  the  flocks  of  sheep  by  the  river-side. 
Foraging  is  continued  to  this  day;  anil  it  is 
not  considered  a  theft  by  the  raftsmen  to  ap- 
propriate to  their  own  use  any  stray  animals 
or  fowls  they  may  have  the  good  luck  to 
find. 

And  with  this  preface  we  introduce  our 
readers  to  om-  heroes,  and  follow  them  down 
the  river. 

Lawrie  and  Clare  Norton  were  city  boys, 
twins,  fourteen  years  old,  and  were  spending 
the  winter  and  spring  with  their  cousin,  Sam 
Norton.  Their  uncle  was  part-owner  of  a 
steam  saw-mill  and  a  hunber-tract;  and  they 
enjoyed  themselves  in  watching  the  trans- 
formation of  the  huge  pine  trees  from  their 
fall  in  the  forest  until  they  were  thrown 
i  from   the   mill   in   the   shape  of   boards.     All 


m' 


72 


AMON(;     THE     RAFTSMEN. 


^    i 


Hi 


winter  men  with  teams  hail  heeii  hiisv  at 
work,  fellint;  aiui  iliawin^  the  loys,  work- 
ing from  lour  o'clock  in  the  moining  until 
long  alter  dark  at  riiyht.  The  mill  had  not 
teased  work,  exee|)t  on  Sundavs.  tlirou^h  tlie 
whole  season.  Tw(  sets  ol  haml  were  em- 
ploveilat  the  null,  one  workiiii;  though  the 
dav.  the  other  at  ni;,'lit. 

The  niUi-_\ard  wa>  filled  with  hu^'e  piles  ol 
boards;  r.-id  111  the  latter  part  ol  winter  a  new 
set  of  men  and  teams  was  hired  to  draw  the 
luinher  to  the  creek. 

••  We  bhall  be  raltin;^'  to-morrow,"  haid  Mr. 
Norton,  one  cvenin;;,  ■•  and  if  vou  boys  wish 
to  see  the  work,  com.'  ddwii  with  some  of  the 
teams  in  the  morning.' 

'•  What  lime  do  the  teams  i,'o.'  "  iisked  Sam. 

"The  first  load-^  l;o  at  four  o'clock.  But 
you  can  eat  hieakfast.  and  come  down  on  some 
of  the  second  loads." 

The  bovs  were  up  carlv  in  the  morniii;;, 
and,  eatini;  a  l)reakra--t  ol  buckwheat  cakes 
and  mince  pie.  hasteiuil   to  the  mill-yard. 

Here  was  a  busy  scene.  Teams  were  com- 
ini,'  and  Jioini;  at  all  times.  The  men  upon 
the  board-piles  were  kept  busy  shoviiv^  off  the 
boards  upon  the  sleds,  wliich  were  backed  up 
to  the  piles.  They  ^raspeil  a  board  at  the  op- 
posite ciul  from  the  sled,  and,  wilh  a  twitch, 
sent  it  upon  the  load,  where  it  was  ipiickly  put 
in  place  bv  the  loader. 

The  loads  were  built  nearlv  five  leet  hi!];h 
and  five  broad,  each  load  ci>iit;iiniii;{  over  two 
thousand  feet  of  boards.  When  the  loail  was 
finisheti,  it  was  bound  on  with  chains,  aiul  a 
binding-pole,  twisted  throu'^h  Ihe  forward 
chain,  was  bent  down  and  fa-tened  behind. 
The  horses  were  imn'iedialely  whipped  into  a 
trot,  and  the  hui.;e  load  swayed  from  side  to 
side  over  therouLrh  roail.  sleds  creaked,  drivers 
hallooed,  and  the  vacant  place  was  immedi- 
ately filled  by  another  sled. 

The  bovs  mounted  one  of  the  loads,  ami 
seated  themselves  on  the  boards.  The  greater 
part  of  the  road  was  slightly  desceniling.  so 
that  the  horses  did  not  pull  in  the  lea^t,  and 
were  constantly  trotting.  Where  the  road 
went  through  a  gutter,  or  uji  a  small  i)iteh,  the 
horses  were  put  into  a  gallop,  aiul  the  im|ie- 
tus  carried  them  over  it. 

At  the  foot  of  one  of  thr--e  hillocks  was  a 
sluice,  where  the  water  ran  Ihroii^h,  and  over 
which  a  few  boards  had  been  jilaced.  The^e 
liad  been  worn  smooth  by  the  continual  pass- 
ing of  teams,  and  made  a  jump  in  the  road. 

'•  Take  care  of  \<)ursclves  now."  shouted  the 
driver,  as  he  started  Ihc  horses  vlown  the  pitch. 
"There  is  a  jump  at  the  bottom  here." 


I'.t  instead  of  jumping,  the  last  sled  struck 
the  boards,  shoved  them  ahead,  lan  against 
the  opposite  side  of  the  sluice,  aiul  stuck  fa^t. 
'I'he  horses  had  gained  such  force  in  the  run 
that  they  snapped  the  double  whillletree  hke 
a  conl,  and  ihagged  the  ilriver  oil'  the  front  of 
the  load.  He  alighted  iijx)!!  hi-,  feel.  howe\er. 
and  tpiickly  stopped  them. 

Sam  had  been  sitting  on  the  ed^ie  of  the  'oad. 
with  his  feet  hanging  olV.  and  the  sudden  shock 
threw  him  heail  liist  into  a  snow-bank,  where 
only  his  leet  were  visible.  He  was  quii'ixly 
dragged  from  this  position  by  ihe  <lriver.  and 
set  upon  his  feet,  pulling,  and  \er_\  red  in  ihe 
lace. 


? 


"  ril  ^hijw  ynu  yoilnj;slt.T^  .»  trii:k  with  iniii;li  in.ilt:i  i.ils,*' 

"Well,  young  jiorpoise,  how  came  you 
there.'" 

"  Why.  your  stopping  was  lallier  unexiiect- 
ed,  and  I  followed  the  natural  law  of  gravita- 
tion." Sam  had  read  Isaac  Newton.  "Just 
let  me  know  a  little  beforehand  when  you  ]iro- 
pose  to  stop  again,  and  I'll  be  reaily  to  sto]). 
too." 

"  Now  you'\e  got  to  go  back,"  saiil  Clare,  a^ 
he  looked  at  the  broken  whillletree. 

"Don't  be  so  sure,"  said  the  tlriver.  "  I'll 
show  you  youngsters  a  trick  with  rough  ma- 
terials." 

He  took  an  axe,  one  of  which  was  willi  evi'iv 
sled,  and  went  into  the  woods.  He  soon  re- 
turned with  a  beech  stick  about  three  feel  long 


I 


AMONT,   tup:    raftsmfn. 


73 


t  ^lc^l  struck 
Kin  against 
il  stuck  I'a^t. 
in  the  run 
illlctive  VXc 
the  Iroiit  of 

Ct.   hllWCVLT, 

'  ol'  the  'oiul. 
uilili'u  shock 
bank,  where 
was  quickly 
driver,  and 
^  red   in   the 


OT 


fn 


came    you 

r  unexpeet- 
ofgravita- 
ton.  "Just 
en  you  ]iro- 
i.\y  to  stop. 

id  Clare,  a- 

ivcr.     ••  ril 
rough  iiia- 

-  with  every 
le  soon  re- 
L'e  feet  long 


i 


and  six  inches  through.  This  he  hewed  au.  n 
upon  each  side,  until  it  was  ahout  an  inch  ami 
a  halfthick. 

■•  Now  don't  \()u  think  I  can  get  along.'" 
nsked  he  ol'  Clare. 

'•  Have  you  an  auger.'"  asked  Clare. 

'•No." 

'•  Then  you  can't  make  the  holes." 

".See  here, "he  said,  cutting  a  notch  in  the 
side  ol"  the  stick,  near  the  iniildle.  just  deep 
enough  I'or  the  draw-holt  to  set  into.  Then, 
upon  the  opposite  --ide  I'roiu  this  notch,  and 
ab<nit  two  inches  I'roni  each  end,  he  cut  two 
holes  large  enough  I'or  the  single  whilHetree- 
bolls. 

••There,  it  is  all  made,"  he  saiti,  and  proceed- 
ed to  put  it  in  its  i>lace.  The  whillletree  was 
so  wide  that  when  the  clevises  were  fixed  in 
place  they  could  not  slip  oil"  the  enils.  ••  That 
is  rough  work,  hut  better  tlian  to  waste  halt' 
an  hour  in  going  alter  a  nicer  one." 

When  the  ijoys  arrived  at  the  creek,  they 
found  a  scene  as  lively  as  the  one  in  the  inill- 
ynril.  The  boards  were  unloaded  on  the  bank 
of  the  creek,  wliere  men  were  busily  engaged 
in  placing  them  on  the  rafts. 

A  raft  had  just  been  begun,  and  the  bovs 
went  down  to  the  edge  of  the  water  to  watch 
the  work.  A  large  iiuniber  of  odd-looking 
sticks  were  lyinj  about  the  bank,  fashioned 
like  a  ciiilgel,  abo.it  three  feet  long,  and  with 
a  large  knob  at  the  end.  Lawrie  asked  one 
of  the  men  if  they  were  shillalehs. 

'•■\'esl  a  raftsman's  shillaleh."  he  re|)lied  ; 
"but  they  go  by  the  name  oi'  i^rnihx  here.  We 
use  them  in  the  place  of  nails  and  bolts,  to 
hold  the  rafts  together." 

"^Vllat  are  they  made  of.'" 

"  Oak  saplings.  We  cut  olf  the  top  of  the 
sapling  ahout  three  feet  from  the  ground,  and 
then  cut  and  grub  them  —  tliat  gives  th'eni 
their  name  —  out  of  the  giounil,  leaving  a  large 
piece  of  the  root  on.  to  form  a  shoulder  or 
head.  The  stem  is  trimmed  down  to  fit  an 
inch  hole. 

"  But  Iiow  do  you  use  them  .' "  (pieried  Law- 
tie,  determined  to  tr.ice  the  grub  through  all 
its  changes. 

"  Watch  us  begin  this  raft,  and  you  will  see 
their  first  use." 

Three  planks  had  been  laid  down,  parallel 
to  each  other  and  eight  feet  apart,  vihile  they 
were  talking.  Each  plank  had  three  holes  in 
it,  one  at  each  end  and  one  in  the  middle. 
Through  each  bole  the  raftsmen  fixed  a  grub, 
with  the  head  under  the  plank,  forming  a 
square  of  three  rows  of  grubs  each  way.  'J'he 
planks    were    fastened    together    with     three 


boards,  bored  with  holes  like  the  planks,  for 
the  insertion  of  the  grubs.  'I'hese  were  laid 
across  the  planks,  a  board  to  each  row  of 
grubs,  and  thus  the  bottom  of  the  forward 
part  of  the  raft,  or  the  first  platlbrm,  as  the 
raftsmen  call  it,  was  made.  'I'liis  platform 
was  pushed  into  the  water,  and  another  one 
commenced  by  inserting  the  grub^  at  the  end 
on  shore  into  the  end  holes  of  three  other 
planks,  and  these  were  connected  together  by 
boards  the  same  as  before.  This  made  a  ratt 
tUirty-two  feet  long  and  sixteen  wide,  or  two 
platforms.  Three  more  iilatforms  were  added 
to  these,  forming  a  raft  nearly  eighty  feel  long, 
some  of  the  length  being  taken  up  in   lapping 


•  Then  just  run  to  the  lower  raUs  .iiul  >;et  us  an  axe 


the  ends  ol  the  I'lanks  together.  As  fast  as  a 
platform  had  been  laid,  the  men  pushed  the 
raft  farther  into  the  water,  and  now  it  stretched 
far  down  the  stream,  looking  like  a  huge  lad- 
der with  cross-boards  every  eight  feel. 

The  raftsmen  now  began  to  lay  hoanls  across 
the  ))lanks.  to  form  the  first  tier  or  bottom  of 
the  raft,  commencing  with  the  last  platform 
niaile. 

••  Now  they're  filling  u|i  the  space  between 
the  rounds  of  the  big  ladder,"  saiil  Sam. 
"  Won't  it  be  a  nobby  place  to  run  on  when 
they  get  it  laiil  clear  through.'" 

'•  Are  you  good  on  the  run?  "  asked  one  of 
the  men. 


J 


74 


AMONG     THE    RAFTS.MKN 


! 


"  Ye«,  sir,"  replied  Sam. 

"  Then  jii^t  nm  to  the  h)wer  raft',  ami  i;et 
us  an  axe." 

Sam  lookei!  ilisroneerled  at  their  puttim;  his 
runiiitii,'  ]>()wers  to  use,  hut  started  oil'  when 
the  men  added  that,  — 

"  Bovs  must  be  useful  as  well  as  seen." 

Wlien  the  hoards  had  been  laid  to  the  ciid 
of  the  first  platlbrm,  three  more  boards  were 
put  on  the  j;iul)>,  two  at  each  side  and  one  in 
thi'  luithlle,  and  ilirectly  over  the  planks  first 
laid  down.  Thus  the  lirst  tier  of  hoards  was 
iaiti  iietween  the  planks  below  and  the  hoards 
above.  The  space  between  these  boards  was 
'.ow  filled  u]),  the  boarils  bein;.^  laid  directly 
ii-i-f  s  the  tier  ol'  hoards  below,  and  thus  al- 
tc  ly  with  each  tier  and  )>lalforni. 

Whci.  five  or  six  tiers  hail  been  hiiil  in  this 
manner  across  the  whole  of  the  raft,  the  men 
proceeiled  to  straii,'liten  it.  for  each  iiarticular 
lilalforni  had  taken  its  own  course,  turning 
upon  the  j,'rubs  as  if  thev  were  pivots. 

To  do  this,  boards  about  twent\-threc  feet 
long  were  used.  Holes  had  been  made  in 
these  as  in  the  other  boariU.  ami  thev  were 
juit  on  from  the  middle  grub  on  one  platform 
to  the  opposite  one  on  the  next  iilatfonn.  The 
end  of  each  board  was  lapped  f>n  the  eml> 
of  the  middle  grubs;  ami  this  combination 
throughout  the  whole  raft  brought  the  side^- 
into  a  perfectly  straight  line.  The  straighten- 
ing boards  were  then  taken  otV.  and  the  work 
of  laving  the  tiers  resumed.  From  eighteen 
to  twenty  tiers  form  a  raft.  When  a  rat't  was 
finished  and  tied  to  the  bank  with  cables,  they 
hung  the  oars.  Clare  and  Lawrie  were  look- 
ing for  the  oars  as  the  men  spoke  of  hanging 
them. 

"  Can't  I  get  them  for  you.'"  asked  Lawrie, 
willing  to  help,  and  thinking  they  were  on 
the  bank, 

"Well,  yes."  said  the  foreman,  Mr.  Ames. 
"  You  will  find  them  iust  beyond  the  boards, 
on  the  bank.  Bring  them  down  here,  and  I'll 
give  you  a  cent.  You  other  boys  may  help 
him." 

Clare  started,  but  Sam  only  grinned,  as  if  in 
expectation  of  some  fun.  The  boys  could  see 
no  oars  when  they  reached  the  place  indicated. 
There  were  onlv  some  long  poles,  with  big 
lioards  pinned  to  the  eiuN.  and  which  Claie 
said  looked  like  lihertv  poles  with  guide-boards 
nailed  at  the  larger  enils, 

"  We  can't  find  them,"  shouted  Clare, 

"There  they  are.  Pick  them  up  and  come 
on."  said  Mr.  Ames,  coming  up,  and  pointing 
to  the  long  sticks. 

The  bovs  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 


"  Those  big  sticks  oars  ?  " 

"^'es;  but  you  don't  seem  to  think  you  can 
lift  them." 

"  We  didn't  eat  an  over-large  dinner,  and 
don't  feel  very  stout ;  so  I  gnes>  we  won't  trv 
it,"  said  Lawrie.  laughing. 

"Well,  take  iiold,  men,  and  carrv  a  coupl«. 
down  to  the  raft." 

The  men  lilted  the  oars  upon  their  shoul- 
ders, and  placed  one  at  each  end  of  the  raft. 
Oar-pins  were  then  fixed  in  the  raft  for  the  oars 
to  swing  on,  and  a  large  hole  was  bored  in  the 
oar  to  fit  it.  The  oar-stem  was  nearly  forty 
feet  long,  eight  inches  in  diameter  at  the  large 
end.   where   the   paddle-board   was   fixed,  and 


"There  they  are  ;  just  pick  ilitiii  up  .mii  Luriie  along." 

tapering  down  to  a  handle  at  the  other  end. 
The  paddle  was  a  board  six  feet  long  and  two 
inches  wide  pinned  on  the  large  end  of  the 
oar-stem.  Hanging  the  oars  consisted  in  pla- 
cing them  upon  the  pins;  and  when  this  was 
done,  the  raft  was  completed,  except  its  cargo. 

The  boys  wondered  how  the  oars  could  pull 
the  raft  along  when  at  the  ends. 

••  Docs  the  raft  go  sidewise.'  "  they  asked  of 
Mr.  Ames. 

"  O.  no.  We  let  it  float  down  with  the  cur- 
rent, and  only  use  the  oars  to  keep  it  in  the 
stream.  They  are  just  the  same  as  rudders  to 
a  ship."  he  replied. 

"  You'll  make  raftsmen  some  d.iy,"  said  Mr. 


f! 


AMONG    THE    RAKTSMEX. 


/.•) 


link  vou  can 

iliiiniT.  aiul 
ivc  won't  trv 

vr\  a  couple 

their  -.lioul- 
of  the  raft. 

t  for  tlie  oars 

bored  in  the 
nearly  forty 
at  tlie  larne 

,s   fixed,  and 


ume  alung." 

!  other  end. 

ng  and  two 
end  of  the 
stcd  in  pla- 

on  this  was 

jU  its  cargo. 

s  could  pull 

ey  asked  of 

ith  the  cur- 
p  it  in  the 
i  rudders  to 

y,"  said  Mr. 


.\inf>-,  as  they  were  going  lionie  that  night; 
••  and  a  good,  healthy  life  it  is,  too.  A  sick 
raftsman  is  as  rare  as  a  June  snow-bank." 

••  But  it  is  all  on  account  of  the  exercise  anil 
early  rising."  saiil  an  olil  man,  who  had  run 
the  rlvt-r  for  years,  and  was  the  pilot  of  the 
rafts.  •'  Scholars  in  schools  can  be  as  healthy 
if  they  would  only  work  :i  little  each  morning. 
Laziness  is  as  much  a  disease  as  lever,  and 
kills  more  men." 

'•  There  won't  be  no  chance  to-morrow  lor 
laziness,"  said  Mr.  Ames.  '■  If  the  wind  speaks 
true,  we'll  have  a  storm  before  morning.  If  a 
rain-storm  comes  and  takes  olV  the  snow, 
there'll  be  such  a  tlood  as  we  haven't  seen  for 
vear>." 


"The  tret'K  is  rising." 

'•  If  it  docs  rain,"  said  the  pilot,  "  you  bovs 
better  drop  down  and  see  us.  It  will  be  a  sight 
you'll  never  f,)rget," 

The  boys  promised  they  would,  for  they  saw 
the  old  pilot  took  an  interest  in  them,  as  such 
rough  men  do  in  all  boys  who  do  not  put 
themselves  forward  too  much. 

••  I  guess  exercise  does  make  an  appetite," 
sail!  Sam.  while  eating  supper.  ■•  It  gives  the 
victuals  a  good  relish,  at  least." 

■•  I  should  think  so  by  your  eating,"  said 
Clare. 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  eat  enough  to  carry 
those  oars  to-morrow,"  laughed  .Sam. 

Sleep  came  cpiickly  to  the  boys'  eyelids  that 
night,  for  the  long  day's  work  had  made  them 


tired;  but  Clare  said,  as  he  lay  down,  that  it 
was  worth  a  tlay's  hard  work  to  have  such  a 
pleasant  feeling  <>'.'  rest. 

Lawrie  was  - -.v  ikencd  in  the  nij^ht  l,v  a 
shouting,  and  >.|.  ging  out  of  bed,  he  heard 
the  rain  fallin.'  «..  the  root,  and  saw  the  gleam 
of  lanterns  in  .  yanl.  (ioing  to  a  wiruiow, 
he  heard  a  man  calling  to  his  uncle,  who  soon 
appeared. 

"The  creek  i>  rising,'  shouted  the  man, 
whom  Lawrie  recogni/ed  as  Mr.  Ames,  ■•and 
wc  must  go  for  the  rafts  if  we  expect  to  save 
anything." 

"  Mow  long  has  the  rain  been  falling.'  " 

"Nearly  six  hours,  and  steadily,  too.  The 
gutters  and  roads  are  full  ol  water,  anil  the 
creek  will  be  over  banks  before  morning." 

Lawrie  awoke  the  boys,  and,  hastilv  dress- 
ing,  ran  down  stairs  to  the  kitchen,  which  was 
full  of  men. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you.  uncle,"  said  he  to 
Mr.  Noiton,  who  was  putting  on  his  oil-cloth 
overcoat. 

'•Whew.'  What  are  you  out  at  this  time 
of  night  for.'  And  here  are  the  other  bovs. 
Why,  you'd  get  tlrownih'd  if  you  went;  the 
rain  itself  would  carry  you  otV." 

"  Let  them  go,"  said  the  \oice  of  the  old 
pilot.  '-Boys  won't  be  easy  at  home  when 
there's  anything  exciting  going  on;  and  I'll 
warrant  they'll  take  care  of  themselves." 

■•Well,  get  on  ;our  overcoats,  and  take  a 
bite  of  something  to  eat,  while  we  bring  out  the 
horses.  Ihit  you  nnistn't  lie  getting  in  the 
way,"  said  Mr.  .Vorton. 

The  boys  promised  they  would  not,  and  were 
ready  to  go  as  soon  as  the  horses  were  at  the 
door. 


76 


amonj  tfie   raftsmen. 


Thk   Boys  takk  a  Bath.     Page  79. 


AMONG  THE  RAFTSMEN. 

BV    FRANK    H.    TAVLOR. 
II   -  RAPTINO. 

TT  was  iaiiiiri<;  furiously,  and  tiie  rush  of 
J-  waters  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  the 
•woods,  sounding  like  the  rumbling  of  cars. 
It  was  so  dark  that  nothing  could  be  seen  be- 
vond  the  liglit  of  the  lanterns  which  the  men 
carried.  The  feet  of  the  horses  splashed  in 
water  at  every  step,  and  at  times  the  wagon 
would  drop  into  a  sluice  nearly  to  the  box. 
•where  a  bridge  had  been  swept  away.  The 
boys  were  greatly  excited  with  the  romantic 
scene,  and  only  hoped  the  water  would  rise 
higher. 

"  It  will  be  high  enough,  my  lads."  said  the 
pilot.  "  The  rain  itself  would  be  sufficient  to 
raise  the  creek;  but  you  see  there  is  snow 
enough  on  the  ground  to  make  as  much  water 
as  has  fallen.  Where  you  saw  the  large  banks 
of  snow  yesterday,  there  won"t  be  enough  left 
to  make  a  snow-ball  by  morning  I  remember 
a  flood  we  liad  two  years  ago,  when  the  snow 
was  no  deeper  than  now,  and  in  six  hours 
from  the  time  it  coinmenced  raining  the  creek 
was  ovi-rnow!!ig  its  banks. 

'•  A  small  brook,  which  was  dry  the  greater 
part  of  the  year,  rose  so  suddenly  that  it  car- 


ried away  the  larger  portion  of  a  village  on  its 
banks,  and  one  whole  family  was  -drownded. 
The  stores  and  churches  were  moved  into  the 
middle  of  the  streets.  One  church  floated 
against  a  hotel,  moved  it  from  its  place,  and 
stopped  on  its  walls,  while  the  hotel  went 
down  the  stream.*  The  creek  was  full  of  liav, 
grain,  and  luniber  for  days  afterwards,  and 
some  people  made  a  rich  harvest  by  gathering 
them. 

"  But  see,"  he  exclaimed,  as  they  came  to 
a  jilace  where  the  road  ran  on  the  edge  of  the 
creek,  ''it  is  full  hanks  already;"  and  he 
swung  his  lantern  out  towards  the  water. 

The  boys  could  see  the  black,  turbid  water 
rushing  along,  boiling  and  foaming,  and  now 
and  then  splashing  up  into  the  road  where 
they  were  riding.  Its  surface  was  covered  with 
pieces  of  boards,  floating  trees,  and  chips; 
and  the  rafts  were  stretching  the  cables  far 
down  the  stream. 

"  We  niu-t  sent!  the  horses  back  immedi- 
ately," saiil  Mr.  Norton,  springing  from  the 
wagon,  '•  or  the  water  will  catch  them." 

The  men  alighted,  and  the  horses  were  sent 
home. 

"  Now,  work  with  a  will,  men."  said  Mr. 
Nortor,  "  for  we  will  have  all  we  can  do  to 
save  our  lumber  before  the  water  comes  up." 


A  lact. 


AMUNC;     Till-:     RAFTSMEN. 


77 


.1  villaLje  on  its 
was  -tirownded. 
moved  into  the 

church  floated 
its  place,  and 
he  hotel  wont 
was  full  of  hav, 
nfferwards,  and 
^t bv  gathering 

s  thev  came  to 
;he  edge  of  the 
adv ;  "  and  lie 
the  water. 
k,  turbid  water 
ning,  and  now 
he  road  where 
as  covered  with 
es,  and  chips; 
the  cables  far 

back  immedi- 
iging  from  the 
h  them." 
jrses  were  sent 

len,"    >aid  Mr. 
we  can    do  to 
er  comes  up." 


He  called  the  liovs  to  him.  atui  uave  tliem 
the  light-  to  l.o.,l. 

'•  Follow  the  n."n."  said  he. 

Large  piles  ot'  boards  were  still  unrafted. 
and  were  in  danger  of  lloating  down  the  cieek 
as  soon  as  t lie  wale !•  s ho  11  I  reach  tliem.  Some 
ol'  the  raits  wen-  not  C()ni|)leteil. 

••  riie-e   mii-l    be    fmishetl    first, "   saiil    Mr.* 
Norton.     ••  I, .IV  hold  of  the  board-,  ami  we'll 
beat  the  water  vel.  ' 

The  men  rapiillv  tran-lerred  the  boariis  tVom 
the  piles  to  the  raits,  each  one  working  with 
a  will.  When  one  Her  of  boards  had  been 
laid  the  whole  length  of  a  platform,  another 
was  commenced  bv  other  men,  to  be  followed 


Building  the  fire. 

bv  another;  and  thus  several  tiers  were  being 
laid  all  at  once,  one  set  of  men  following 
quiekly  after  another,  and  each  striving  to  get 
their  platform  on  to  the  heels  of  those  ahead. 
Bets  were  freely  made  among  them ;  and  oft- 
times  the  forward  nen  were  but  a  board  ahead 
as  the  platform  behind  them  was  finished. 
The  boys  caught  the  excitement,  and  wi-hed 
to  help  on  the  rafts. 

"Build  a  fire,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  "to  light 
us  by,  and  we'll  give  you  work." 

They  placed  the  lanterns  where  ^\\^^  men 
could  see,  and  commenced  gathering  materi- 
als for  tlie  fue.  Pieces  of  boards  lay  all  about, 
which  they  quickly  collected  into  a  huge  pile; 
sha\ings  were  whittled,  and   a  light  applied. 


The  wooii  was  wet,  and  the  fire  sputtered  and 
snapped  in  the  ruin,  which  was  still  falling; 
but  some  pitch-pine  knots  were  soon  in  a  blaze, 
and  the  fire  leaped  up  lhroiiL;h  the  ilarkness. 
The  boys  felt  the  sublimity  of  the  scene,  as 
the  huge  fire  sent  its  glare  far  dut  over  the 
waters,  lighting  up  aliii.)st  to  the  lowest  rait, 
revealing  the  rough  fornix  of  the  raflsnien 
moving  swiftly  about,  the  rus|iin;r  waters  swav- 
ing  the  rafts  to  and  fro,  and  throwing  deep 
shadows  just  beyond  its  liuthest  limits. 

All  the  boards  bad  now  l,een  carried  upon 
the  completed  lalts,  which  were  drawn  up  be- 
side the  others,  and  Mr.  Norton  called  the 
boys  to.  push  the  boards  from  tli,  piles  to  the 
raltsiiieii.  The  rafts  were  so  near  each  other 
that  the  boys  had  only  to  swing  the  boards 
around,  by  balancing  them  acr()ss  the  pile,  so 
that  the  lal'tsincn  could  grasp  tlie  end  and 
pull  it  to  them.  .\t  la-t  only  one  raft  was  left 
uncompleted,  ami  all  hands  were  at  work  on  it. 

"Why.  it  is  growing  darker,"  said  Sam. 
"Our  tire  is  going  out.    We'll  go  and  fix  it  up.  " 

"  It's  the  water."  said  Clare  ;  ■•  don't  \ou  see, 
it  is  putting  the  fire  out.'  Uncle,  the  water  is 
rising! " 

"  So  it  is!"saiil  he,  as  he  saw  the  waves 
about  the  fire.  ••  It  is  rising  fast,  (jet  the 
lanterns." 

"  We  left  them  by  the  lire,"  said  Sam. 
"They're  in  the  water  before  now." 

"We'll  be  left  in  the  dark,  then.  Here,  get 
into  this  boat,  and  see  if  you  can  find  them. 
It  will  be  a  pretty  fix  if  we  have  no  light." 

There  were  a  number  of  boats  tiei'  to  the 
raft-,  and  the  boys  sprang  into  one  of  them. 
They  could  all  row  well  for  their  age;  so  Mr. 
Norton  did  not  fear  to  trust  them  with  the 
boat. 

The  fire  was  fast  dying  out,  only  the  higher 
sticks  burning,  and  every  moment  some  of 
these  were  falling  into  the  water.  The  boys 
rowed  the  boat  to  where  they  thought  the  lan- 
terns had  been  left,  and  Lawrie.  reaching  over 
the  stern,  attempted  to  find  them.  He  could 
not  touch  bottom. 

"  Hand  me  a  stick,"  said  he;  "  the  water  is 
too  deep." 

Splash  went  another  brand  into  the  water. 

"Come,  hustle,"  said  Sam,  "or  we  won't 
have  enough  light  to  sec  to  tip  over  by,  in  a 
moment." 

Lawrie  felt  around  on  the  bottom,  but  could 
touch  nothing. 

"The  boat  is  drifting  away,"  said  Clare; 
"  give  it  a  push." 

Sam  dipi  1  his  oars,  and  one  of  them  struck 
something  metallic. 


n 


7X 


AMONG     THE     RAFTSMEN. 


"  Tliere'fi  one,"  i>ni<l  Clare  :  "  _.  our  oar  hit  it." 

"  I've  K<'t  it,"  said  Lawric,  as  the  hoat  swunj{ 
around;   "and  hcrc^  another." 

'•Ami  tiiiTc's  the  iiiiht."  said  S;iin.  as  thi' 
last  liiaiui  li'll  into  the-  water,  Icavini,'  tlicni  in 
darkius.s. 

"  Ukw  tliis  wav,"  hlioutcd  Mr.  Norton  :  and 
guided  1)»  his  voiti'  tlicv  reached  llie  ratts. 
A  li^ht  «as  >()()n  iiroiimeil. 

"Now  wi'U  put  extra  cables  to  the  rafts, 
and  wait  until  nuirning.  U  will  be  daylight 
in  half  an  hour." 


Cables  were  lastene.l  to  the  :;rul)s  on  the 
rafts,  the  end  )nit  into  a  bo.it  and  carried  to 
trees  on  the  bank,  w  here  they  were  made  fast. 
Some  of  the  lafts  were  tied  to  each  otlier,  side 
by  side,  and  all  were  brought  up  close  to- 
gether. 

The  boys  made  a  rou'^li  siielter  of  boards  on 
one  of  the  rafts,  and  lying  down  under  it  on 
some  oil-cloths,  listened  to  the  falling  rain  and 
rushing  waters. 

"Wouldn't  mother  be  scared  if  she  knew 
■where  we  were  now  ?"  said  Clare. 

"I  guess  she  is  thinking  of  us,"  rejilied 
Lawrie. 

''  More  likely  dreaming  of  you  at  this  time 
of  night,"  said  Sam.  "  Isn't  it  splendid, 
though.'  It  reads  like  a  book.  Here  comes 
the  old  pilot." 

"  We're  going  to  ha\e  a   big  one."  said  he. 


kitting  down  under  the  boards.  "The  whole 
creek  will  be  a  lake  before  night,  and  you  boyii 
can  make  some  spending  money  by  latching 
hnnber  to-da\.  There  will  be  thousands  of 
feet  come  down  the  cieek  from  the  mills 
above." 

"This  will  be  a  spleiuliil  tiii\e  to  start  down 
the  creek  —  won't  it.'"  asked  Lawrie. 

"  Not  nun  li.  If  we  started  now,  we'd  be 
more  likely  to  land  in  the  middle  of  some 
meadow  than  at  Cincinnati.  The  wind  and 
current  would  carry  us  out  of  the  creek  and 
into  the  woods,  in  spite  of  the  men." 

"When  will  you  start?" 

"  When  the  cieek  begins  to  tall.  You  see, 
while  it  is  rising,  the  currents  rim  from  the 
creek,  and  when  it  is  falling,  the  water  turns 
and  runs  towards  it.  So  theie  will  be  no  dif- 
t'lcultv  in  keeping  a  raft  in  tin  centre  of  the 
btream  while  tiie  water  is  tailing." 

"  How  long  will  the  water  stay  up.'" 

"I  have  seen  it  over  the  Hats  four  weeks; 
but  this  freshet  will  probably  subside  in  less 
time,  as  it  has  arisen  >o  rapidly.  I  think  we 
may  start  in  two  weeks." 

"  Won't  it  be  jolly.'  L'ncle  has  said  we  ni.ay 
go  with  him,  and  aunt  is  going  too." 

"Yes;  ladies  go  down  the  river  very  often 
now,  but  I've  sien  the  tlay  when  such  a  thing 
would  be  thought  impossible,  iiiit  women  lio 
help  to  make  the  trip  more  pleasant,  and  it 
keeps  the  men  in  mind  of  their  own  wives. 
Ihit  now  we'll  >ee  how  the  water  looks." 

The  boys  had  been  l_v  iiig  tlown.  w  ith  their 
heails  covereil.  anil  w  hen  Ihey  roused  up,  they 
saw  it  was  quite  light.  The  men  were  out  in 
boats,  fixing  the  rafts,  and  making  new  tying- 
, daces,  or  catching  boards  and  logs  that  were 
lloating  down  the  stream.  To  the  surprise  of 
the  boys.  i>othing  could  he  seen  of  the  road, 
and  onlv  '.n  opening  through  the  trees  showed 
where  it  was.  The  stream,  which  was  only  a 
few  roils  wide  the  night  before,  was  now  stretch- 
ing half  a  mile  on  each  side,  and  still  rising. 
They  could  see  that  the  siiow  was  nearly  gone 
from  the  hills,  only  a  few  snow-banks  bei'-; 
visible.  It  was  still  ra'uing  slowly.  The  water 
looked  black  and  muddy,  and  large  cakes  of  ice 
and  creek  rubbish  were  being  borne  out  from  the 
stream  by  the  current  which  settled  landwaid. 

"  Ilere  comes  some  timber,"  shmited  one  of 
the  men;  and  looking  up  the  creek,  the  hoys 
saw  a  mass  of  boards  floating  down. 

They  were  lying  in  every  imaginable  posi- 
tion, jiiled  one  on  another,  sticking  out  l;..im 
the  sides,  aiul  mixed  with  branches  of  trees 
and  old  rubbish.  .Some  of  the  boards  had 
dropped  oil",  and  were  floating  around  it. 


AMONG    THE     RAFTiJMLN, 


79 


'■  'I'lif  wliole 
,  aiui  \<)u  l)(iv« 
•y  hy  catcliiiii; 
tlioiisatulK  (>r 
mil    till'    mills 

to  >lait  ilown 
wrii.'. 

now,  we'll  be 
ililie  of  some 
.'lii;  wiiiil  ami 
lie  crock  and 
icn." 

ill.  You  see, 
run   liom   tlic 

0  water  tuin>> 
rill  bo  no  dil- 
coiUrc  ot'  the 

■  lip?" 

<  lour  weeks; 

il)-iili'  in   loss 

1  tiiiiik  we 

i  said  we  inav 

on." 

,er  vorv  oltcn 
Mich  a  thing 

int  women  do 
sant,  and  it 
own  wives. 

lo()k>." 
1.  with  their 
i~ed  U|),  thev 
were  out  in 
'I  new  tyiiii;- 
gs  that  were 

e  surprise  of 
of  the  road, 
rees  showed 

1  was  only  a 
now  stretch- 
still  risiii!^, 
nearly  itone 

banks  bei'! 
The  water 
cakes  of  ice 
out  from  the 
d  landward. 
)iited  one  of 
L'k,  the  boy.s 
vt\. 

inable  posi- 
1!,'  out  li..itn 
les  of  trees 
lioarils  had 
und  it. 


•*: 


"Jump  into  this  lioat,  bovs,"  said  the  pilot, 
"and  we  will  help  l)rin>{  it  in." 

The  pilot  threw  some  rope*  into  tlie  bo.it, 
and  followed  the  other  men.  The  lumber  was 
iettini;  in  towards  the  land,  and  was  some  dis- 
tanie  Iroin  the  bed  of  the  creik.  .\s  thcv  aji- 
proached.  it  looked  like  a  pile  of  l)oarils  whiih 
had  been  well  "  stacked,"  but  had  been  t'"-n  to 
pieces  coniiiijf  down  the  creek. 

"Take  the  end  o  the  rope,  and  jump  on  the 
boards,"  said  the  pilot  to  Sam  and  Lawrie.  who 
sal  in  the  bowol  the  boat,  as  they  touched  the 
pile.     "  Now  hitch  it  to  some  of  the  boards." 

The  boys  made  an  opening  in  the  top  anionj.!; 
the  loose  boards,  and  found  a  jjlank  near  the 
middle,  to  which  they  ticii  the  rope.  The 
otlier  boatb  did  the  ounie. 


"The  jiilot  pullcil  liiiii  iiiio  ilii;  bo.ii. '' 

"We'll  stay  on  here."  said  th"  boys  whc.T 
the  ropes  had  been  hitched  to  rini^s  in  the  boat. 
"We  can  ride  here  wi.'ll  enough,  and  see  to 
the  ropes." 

"Take  care,  then."  said  the  pilot,  as  the 
boats  started.  The  pile  dipped  and  pitched  like 
a  ship  at  sea  as  the  boats  pulled  it  aloni;;  aid 
the  boys  found  it  was  not  easy  to  keep  tlie;i 
balance.  The  bottom  boards  woul  sometimes 
touch  the  fjround,  and  swing  the  piie  around 
with  a  jerk,  nearly  throwini;  th':iii  otf.  As 
they  neared  the  rafts,  the  limbs  of  an  olii  tree 
which  lay  in  the  water  cau','lit  in  ;!  ,•  cracks  at 
the  bottom,  and  the  next  moment  the  pile  se;>- 


arated.  The  boys  stood  near  the  middle,  and 
the  ropes  jerked  the  lioards  from  under  them  so 
i|uick.  that  they  were  llat  on  their  backs.  They 
ea;;erly  chitclied  the  boards  as  they  fell,  and. 
clingiiii;  to  tiiem,  were  thrown  into  the  water. 
I'he  boards  pnxented  their  sinkiiiL;,  howeyer; 
and  as  soon  as  their  friijht  was  oyer,  they  ilrew 
themselves  upon  them.  They  liad  fallen  in 
the  middle  of  the  pile,  wliere  it  separated,  and 
they  climbed  U|)nii  the  two  separate  ])ortions, 
where  they  sat  lauijhing  at  each  other,  with 
little  streams  of  water  running;  hom  their 
clothes. 

'•Coi.ic  here  and  help  me,"  shouted  ISam  to 
the  pilot,  "or  I'll  slide  olV  ai,'ain." 

The  pile  on  which  he  sat  was  constantly 
falling;  to  pieces;  and  before  the  boat  could 
reach  him,  they  slid  again,  carrying  him  with 
them.  Rut  he  clung  to  the  boards,  and  the 
pilot  pulled  him  into  the  boat,  dripping  from 
lieail  to  foot. 

The  pile  on  which  Lawrie  sat  swung  clear  of 
the  tree,  and  floated  against  the  rafts,  where  he 
sprang  otf.  Tlie  boys  shook  themselves,  let 
the  water  run  from  their  boots,  and  chased 
each  other  around  th_'  rafts  until  thev  were 
warm. 

••  Yon  won't  catch  cold  if  you  keep  moving," 
vaid  the  pilot,  "nor  feel  any  hurt  from  the 
ducking. "     Nor  did  they. 

The  boards  had  been  fastened  to  the  raft  by 

passing  a  long  cable    around   them,  and  more 

nniber    was    caught.      The    pilot    liad    gone 

in   another   boat  with    'he    men,    leaving    his 

boat  lied  to  the  raft. 

"  Say  we  catch  some  timber  on  our  own 
look,"  said  Lawrie.  after  they  had  exercised 
some  time. 

"I'll  do  it."  said  Sam.  "  Here,  Clare,  you 
get  in  the  stern  of  the  boat  to  catch  it,  and 
Lawrie  and  I  will  row.  Yonder  are  some 
shingles;  we'll  bring  them  in." 

The  shingles  were  lloating  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  creek,  and  had  escaped  l'.\e  notice 
of  the  men  until  they  were  now  nearly  against 
the  ratts.  The  boys  jiulled  for  thc;n  ;  but  the 
current  was  so  strong,  they  were  not  reached 
until  far  below.  There  v,ere  ten  large  bunches 
of  the  shingles  tloating  iii  a  jiile.  The  boat 
was  backed  uji,  and  Clare  threw  the  rope 
around  them,  fastening  it  to  the  ring  in  the 
s<.crn. 

"  N'.>v.  we'll  pull  up  this  side  of  the  creek, 
where  tl.o  current  is  not  very  strong,"  said 
Lawr;j.  'Then  we  can  come  down  with  it, 
and  it  w,  1  save  us  much  hard  pulling." 

Tliey  managed  this  so  well,  that  they  soon 
landed    their    loud    at    the    rafts,  and    started 


Ho 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


after  another.      So  well   di'l   they  work,   that 
their  "cat.iiings  "  soon  formeii  a  lar<ie  pile. 

"You'll  have  some  spending  money,  I 
guess,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  as  he  viewed  their 
work.  "These  shinjjles  bear  the  mark  of  Mr. 
Arlinj;ton,  llie  .  ithest  lumberman  in  these 
parts;  and  he  will  pay  you  well  for  saving 
them." 

"One  of  the  rafts  is  loose,"'  shouted  Clare, 
r.s  they  were  returning  from  ore  of  their  trips. 
"  There  it  goes  down  the  creek." 

The  boys  looked,  and  saw  it  just  swinging 
into  the  curreni.  None  of  the  men  was  in 
li-'.iling  distaiice. 

"We  must  save  it."  said  .Sam.  "  Lay  to  the 
oars,  and  we  will  catch  up  with  it  hel'ore  it 
floats  far  away." 

They  pulled  to  the  rafts  as  cuiickly  as  possi- 
ble, lel't  their  load,  and  started  after  the  raft, 
which  was  now  some  liistance  down  the  stream. 
They  pulled  with  all  their  force,  and  soon 
brought  the  boat  alongside.  Clare  sprang 
upon  it,  and  grasped  a  rope  which  lay  on  the 
rait,  one  end  of  which  was  fastened  to  a  grub. 
Then  springing  back  into  the  boat,  he  told 
them  to  pull  for  some  trees  which  grew  on  the 
bank.  Around  one  of  these  he  wound  the 
rope,  until  all  slack  was  taken  up;  and  Sam 
helped  him  hold  the  end.  This  could  be  easily- 
done,  as  it  was  wound  about  tho  tree,  and  'he 
rait  slowly  came  in  towards  the  shore.  It 
swung  around  until  the  rope  wa  .  straight  with 
the  current,  when  with  a  jerk  the  rope  parted 
close  to  the  tree. 

"Never  mind;  we'll  have  it  yet,"  sa'  1  Sam. 
"  See;  it  has  run  into  the  bushes.  We  gave  it 
such  a  swing,  it  has  cleared  the  current." 

The\  pulled  quickly  down,  and  sprang  upon 
it.  It  had  run  the  forward  oar  into  the  bushes, 
and  swung  broadside  upon  them.  The  broken 
rope  was  dragged  in,  and  several  hitches  made 
to  the  trees  near  by,  securing  it  from  going 
farther. 

"Here  comes  uncle  Philip  and  the  pilot," 
said  Clare;  and  Mr.  Norton  sprang  upon  the 
raft. 

"  Well  done,  boys,"  said  he  ;  "  I  didn't  know 
but  you  had  started  on  a  trip  by  yourselves." 

The  boys  told  him  of  their  chase  and  cap- 
ture of  the  raft. 

"  It  wasn  t  I'astened  over  tight,  and  the  waves 
loosened  the  cables." 

"  You'd  have  lost  it,  sure,  if  it  hadn't  been 
lor  them,"  said  the  pilot.  "  They're  bricks,  and 
you  ought  to  give  them  a  share  in  the  raft.  It 
is  wholesale  '  catching.'  you  see." 

'You  may  run  this  raft,  and  pay  me  half  of 
the  money  you  rective  for  it,"  laughed  Mr. 


Norton.  "That  will  give  you  half  to  pay 
your  men  and  divide  among  yourselves." 

The  next  tlay  a  number  of  men  iVom  up  the 
cieek  came  tlown  to  claim  their  linnher,  and 
Mr.  Norton  brought  one  of  them  to  the  boys, 
saying,  "  Mr.  Arlington,  here  are  the  boys 
who  caught  your  shingles;  you  may  pay  them 
the  money." 

"What!  these  little  fellows.'"  said  he. 
"Well,  boys,  you  have  tlone  well.  A'e  will 
count  the  bunches,  and  see  what  they  are 
worth.  Si.\ty  quarter  bunches  at  a  dollar  each 
are  sixty  dollars,  and  we  pay  one  tenth  for 
catching  them,  which  will  he  six  dollars."  He 
pulled  out  an  old  wallet,  and  laid  a  two-dollar 


"  Is  tli.it  all  right?  " 

bill  in  each  of  the  boys' hands.  "  Is  that  al. 
right.'" 

"Yes.  sir.  thank  you,"  said  the  boys. 

"  Well,  now  my  shingles  are  here,  how  shall 
I  get  thi-m  hack  to  Cincinnati.'" 

"These  boys  have  a  raft  here  which  has  no 
load.  Perhaps  you  can  strike  a  bargain  with 
them." 

"The  very  thing.  Hoys,  I'll  give  you  half 
the  profitsif  you'll  see  themsafeto  Cincinnati." 

The  boys  talked  a  little  with  Mr.  Norton, 
and  among  themselves,  and  then  told  Mr. 
Arlington  they  would  accept  his  olfer. 

"  I'll  see  you  in  Cincinnati,"  said  he,  as  he 
left  them. 


I 


f» 


( 


half  to  \tay 
M.'lvc>." 
iVoin  up  the 
lumber,  aiui 
to  the  lioys, 
re  tlie  hoys 
ixy  pay  them 

said  he. 
U.  \Vc  will 
lit  tliey  are 
dollar  each 
u;  tenth  for 
ollars."  lie 
a  two-ckillar 


X^ 


Is  that  al. 

)OVS. 

low  shall 

licli  has  no 
irgain  with 

re  you  half 
■incinnati." 

r.  Norton, 
1  tolil  Mr. 
Her. 

(.1  he,  as  he 


I 


? 


f 


AMONG     THE     RAFTSMEN. 


8i 


Fall  oi"  thk   IJkiui;i;.     I'age  84. 


AMONG  THE  RAFTSMEN. 

BY    FRANK    It.    T.\Y'  .<l{. 
Ill  -DOWN  TUE  CHEEK. 

OAM  LAL'RIE  and  Clare  waited  impatient- 
^--^  ly  for  the  waters  to  subside,  and  visit.d 
tlie  rafts  each  day  to  see  that  all  w^as  riijht. 
Meanwhile  they  hired  two  oarsmen,  that  being 
a  p'..u'iv.i,.nt  number  lor  running  one  raft  down 
the  creek.  One  of  these  was  the  old  |>ilot, 
Brown,  who,  besides  acting  as  a  hand,  was  to 
pilot  the  raft.  The  other  was  an  Irishman,  a 
raw  fellow,  who  had  never  been  d(  a  the 
river. 

The  other  rafts  were  being  co:i])Ied  together, 
two  and  two,  one  behind  the  other,  making  a 
ten-platforin  piece.  They  were  fastened  to- 
getl  er  with  boards  put  over  the  grubs  frini 
one  raft  to  another,  in  the  same  way  as  tlvi 
plvitforms  had  been  attached  to  each  other. 
In  the  middle  of  this  raft,  known  as  a  '■  crc'k 
piece,"  the  shingles  and  lumber  were  piled  in 
rows,  leaving  plenty  of  room  on  the  ends  and 
sides  for  the  men  to  work  and  exercise. 

"We  have  an  unequal  number  of  rafts," 
said  Mr.  Norton,  one  day,  "and  if  you  boys 
wish  to  go  into  a  heavier  trade,  you  may 
couple  it  on   to  yours." 

"  We'll  do  it."  said  they,  "  if  you'll  let  us 
6 


have  it  on  the  same  terms  as  you  did  the  other 
one." 

"That  will  he  putting  too  much  money  in 
your  own  pockets,  you  young  sclieniers," 
laughed  he.  ''  I  have  more  shingles,  how- 
ever, than  I  can  carry  on  my  rafts  handily, 
and  if  you  will  take  enough  of  them  to  make 
your  loail  amount  to  a  hundred  thousand,  and 
carrv  them  free  of  charge,  you  may  run  the 
raft  upon  the  same  terms  as  the  oth.-r." 

"  .Ml  right,"  said  they. 

'•  It  will  only  require  two  men  for  the  ten- 
I  latform  piece,  as  only  two  oars  are  needed, 
one  at  each  end." 

The  piece  was  loadetl  with  eighty  thousand 
shingles  in  ipiarter  bunches,  and  floated  down 
to  their  piece,  to  which  it  was  coupled.  The 
shingles  were  then  arranged  near  the  middle 
of  the  raft,  and  the  boys  made  a  little  house 
out  of  loose  boards  upon  the  top  of  the  pile. 
Here  they  could  lie  while  the  raft  floated  along, 
and  enjoy  the  ride. 

The  tide  currents  had  now  begun  to  set  in 
towards  Mie  river,  and  the  water  was  rapidly 
falling. 

'•  We  must  get  ready  to  start  to-night."  said 
Mr.  Norton,  when  the  water  had  fallen  to  full 
banks.  "  Mother  will  go  with  the  wagon  that 
carries  the  jirovisions  to  Warren,  and  all  will 
be  taken  on  board  there." 


82 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


it 


"  Why  don't  they  get  on  here?  "  asked  Sam. 

"Running  the  creek  is  too  dangerous,  and 
we  might  lose  all  cf  our  provisions  for  the  trip 
between  here  ana  Warren." 

"  How  lonj;  will  it  take  us  to  go  there?" 

"  If  we  start  to-night,  we  shall  i.rrive  at 
Warren  to-rr.orrow  night,  provided  nothing 
happens." 

"  What!  do  we  run  at  night?  "  said  the  hoys. 

"O,  3'es.  Rafts  usually  start  at  dark,  so 
as  to  gain  time,  and  run  the  dangers  of  the 
lowes'  part  of  the  creel:  by  daylight." 

The  wagons  were  loaded  with  new  cables 
and  ropes,  md  drawn  to  the  rafts.  The  boys 
provided  themselves  with  rubber  coats  and 
blankets  to  protc"  'hemselvts  from  the  night 
air.  Thehandsv. .  .collected  upon  thrjr  rafts, 
bustling  a'niit,  trying  the  oars,  and  arranging 
cables,  and  liie  pilots  were  shouting  their  or- 
ders, and  all  were  making  ready  for  the  start. 

A  large  number  of  rafts  from  farther  up  the 
creek  were  continually  passing  while  they  were 
at  work,  the  men  exchanging  banterings,  bets, 
and  jokes  with  each  other,  nome  betting  on 
the  speed  of  their  rnfts,  and  that  they  would 
make  the  quickest  trip,  and  others  that  their 
rafts  would  sell  for  thn  most. 

"Your  raft  will  run  as  fast  as  any  of  them," 
said  Joe  Brown,  the  pilot. 

"  How  can  you  tell?"  asked  the  boys. 

"Because  it  is  heavily  loaded.  The  hcrivi- 
est  raft  runs  the  fastest,  as  it  sinks  deeper  in 
the  water,  and  presents  more  surface  for  the 
water  to  press  against." 

"  Isn't  it  about  time  we  were  starting?  "  said 
the  boys. 

"Let  some  of  the  otheT  rafts  go  first,  and 
we  will  put  our  piece  in  behind  Mr.  Norton's." 

The  rafts  now  began  to  pull  out,  and  came 
floating  along  by  them.  Mr.  Norton  was  on 
the  head  one,  and  called  to  the  boys  to  cast 
otf  as  he  went  by. 

"  Stand  by  to  throw  off  the  cables  I  "  shout- 
ed the  pilot. 

"Let  us  boys  do  it,"  shouted  Laurie ;  and 
he  leaped  upon  the  bank,  followed  closely  by 
Sum. 

"  Stand  to  your  oar,  there,  Pheelim,"  said 
the  pilot. 

"  Hfie  I  is,"  said  Pheelim,  grasping  the 
forward  oar. 

"Untie  the  cable." 

The  boys  loosened  and  threw  it  upon  the 
raft,  and  leaped  on  after  it. 

"  Pull  to  the  right,"  said  the  pilot  to  Phee- 
iim,  at  the  same  time  beginning  to  pull  o;'.  the 
8tern  oar. 

The  oar  was  carried  around  to  the  left,  with 


the  oar-stem  close  to  the  raft,  then  suddenly 
raised  to  a  level  with  the  head.  This  is 
called  "dipping  the  oar."  and  it  is  quite  a 
trick  to  be  able  to  dip  it  successfully  the  first 
time.  The  oarsman  walks  in  the  direction  the 
raft  is  being  pulled,  pushing  the  oar  before 
hi.n.  When  not  in  use,  the  oar  is  raised  from 
the  water. 

"  Now,  then,  all  together,"  said  the  pilot. 

The  raft  moved  slowly  from  the  bank,  and 
floated  down  the  stream,  the  two  oarsmen  pull- 
ing steadily  until  it  reached  the  middle  of  the 
current.  The  boys  climbed  upon  the  shingles, 
and  stood  looking  up  and  down  the  river, 
quietly  enjoying  the  prospect.  As  far  as  they 
could  see,  both  up  and  down,  the  stream 
seemed  to  be  covered  with  rafts,  many  of  them 
being  side  by  "-ide,  and  some  three  abreast, 
where  they  were  running  by  each  other.  It 
was  beginning  to  get  dark,  and  a  few  of  the 
rafts  were  making  preparations  to  "  lie  up  " 
for  the  night. 

"There'll  be  a  ';cattering  rmong  these  be- 
fore morning."  said  the  pilot.  "  Our  rafts  will 
keep  ahead,  because  they  are  heavier  loaded 
than  those  up  the  creek;  but  we've  got  to  look 
out  for  them  ahead  of  us." 

The  boys  sat  down  in  their  "  shanty,"  as 
Pheelim  calfed  it,  and  watched  the  old  pilot 
steer  the  raft.  They  could  hear  the  barn-yard 
sounds  as  they  passed  along  by  the  houses  on 
the  bank,  the  shouts  of  the  pilots  up  and  down 
the  stream,  the  sounds  of  the  men  ringing  out 
upon  the  air,  and  echoed  back  from  the  shore, 
and  tl.e  muskrats  plunging  into  the  water  as 
they  passed  alone;.  The  rafts  began  to  sepa- 
rate, and  run  farther  apart,  until  the  boys 
could  see  none  of  the  others;  but  they  could 
tell  by  their  shouts  in  which  direction  they 
were. 

"  What  is  that?  "  said  Clare,  as  they  heard 
several  sounds  coming  from  down  the  creek, 
sounding  as  if  somebody  had  struck  upon 
loose  wood. 

"  I  don't  know.  There's  another,"  said  Sam, 
as  the  sound  was  repeated  up  the  creek. 

"I'll  ask  the  pilot,"  said  Laurie. 

He  went  forward  to  ask  him,  when  he  saw 
him  strike  several  blows  upon  his  our-stem, 
ard  then  shouted,  — 

"  Pull  to  the  left!" 

"  What  did  you  pound  on  the  oar-6tem  for  ?  " 
asked  Laurie. 

"  To  find  out  how  to  steer  "  said  the  pilot. 

"Well,  that's  queer!"  said  Clare.  "How 
did  you  do  it  by  the  blows?" 

"  I  told  it  by  the  echo.    Just  listen,  now." 

He  struck  several  blows,  and  in  a  few  mo- 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


83 


en  suddenly 
id.  This  is 
it  is  quite  a 
jil>'  the  first 
direction  the 
5  oar  before 
1  raised  fron 

the  pUot. 
le  b.ink,  and 
iirsmen  pull- 
liddle  of  the 
the  shingles, 
n  the  river, 
s  fiir  as  they 

tlie  stream 
lany  of  them 
iree  abreast, 
;h  other.     It 

a  few  of  the 
to  "  lie  up" 

rig  these  be- 
3ur  rafts  will 
avier  loaded 
■e  got  to  look 

'  shanty,"  as 
;he  old  pilot 
le  barn-yard 
!ie  houses  on 
up  and  down 
1  ringing  out 
m  the  shore, 
the  water  as 
gan  to  scpa- 
til  the  boys 
It  they  could 
irection  they 

s  they  heard 
vn  the  creek, 
struck    upon 

r,"  said  Sam, 
creek. 

;vhen  he  saw 
lis  oar-stem, 


ir-stem  for  ?  " 

d  the  pilot, 
lare.     "  How 

iten,  now." 
in  a  few  mo- 


ments the  echoes  could   be   heard  upon  the 
shore. 

••  Which  echo  did  you  hear  first?" 
"The  one  from  the  right  bank,"  said  the 
boys. 

"That  shows  we  are  nearer  that  bank  than 
the  other.     Pull  to  the  left,  Pheelim  !  " 

He  then   struck  another  blow,   the  echoes 
coming  back  almost  at  the  same  time. 
"  Now  we  are  about  in  the  middle." 
"  I've  got   some   lanterns  on  board.     Shall 
we  light  them?"  said  Clare. 

"Yes;  we'll  pass  under  a  bridge  pretty 
quick,  and  it  will  help  us  a  little  to  have  them 
on  the  forward  end." 

The  boys  placed  the  lanterns  at  the  two  for- 
ward corners,  and  sat  down  beside  them. 
They  did  not  throw  the  light  but  a  little 
way,  but  they  served  as  a  warning  to  rafts 
that  might  be  in  their  course. 

"These  are  like  the  head-lights  to  an  en- 
gine," said  Sam.  "I  wish  I  had  a  horn  to 
blow,  and  we'd  make  believe  'twas  a  train  of 
cars." 

"We  mustn't  go  to  playing  such  little 
things,"  said  Laurie.  "Remember  we're 
owners  of  this  raft,   and  not  little  boys." 

"  Well,  we  can  play  we're  little  boys.  I've 
seen  old  people  play  as  if  they  were  little 
boys,"  said  Clare. 

"Pull  to  the  right!  Keep  off!  We're 
aground!"  some  one  shouted  out  of  the 
darkness  below  them. 

"There's  some  one  aground  below  us!" 
shouted  Laurie. 

"Keep  a  watch  for  them,  and  let  me  know 
their  position,"  said  the  pilot. 

"  Be  careful,  and  don't  smash  us,  Mr.  Pilot," 
said  Pheelim.  "  Remember  I'm  ahead,  and 
in  the  principal  part  of  danger." 

"  Pshaw !  We  won't  smash.  'Tend  to  your 
business." 

"They're  on  the  left  bank,"  said  Laurie. 
"They're  on  the  bar,"  said  the  pilot.     "I 
know  the  way  now.     Pull  to  the  right,  Phee- 
lim." 

The  forward  end  of  the  raft  swung  out  from 
the  left  bank,  and  they  glided  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  raft  aground. 

"  Help  us  off!  "  shouted  the  pilot,  from  the 
raft. 

"  All  right.  Throw  us  a  cable.  Here,  boys, 
come  and  help." 

The  boys  ran  to  the  side  of  the  raft,  and 
caught  the  cable  which  was  Uirown  on  board. 
They  then  fastened  it  to  the  raft,  so  as  to  give 
considerable  >lack. 

"  Now,  pull  to  the  right  hand,  Pheelim," 


said  the  pilot.  "Take  care  that  the  cahle 
don't  slip  off,  boys,  and  we'll  drag  them  clear 
from  the  bank." 

The  pilot  upon  the  other  raft  now  ordered 
his  men  to  pull.  The  cable  straightened  out, 
and  the  raft  began  to  slip,  and  finally  swung 
around  into  the  current.  The  boys  cast  off 
the  cable,  which  was  drawn  in  by  the  others, 
who  sent  r.fter  them  a  "  much  obleeged." 

"  How  do  you  suppose  they  got  stuck  there?" 
asked  Laurie. 

"  Because  their  pilot  did  not  understand  the 
drift  of  the  current,  I  presume.  It  runs  pret- 
ty rapid  towards  the  bar,  and  then  turns  off 
short;  and  a  raft  following  the  course  of  the 
current  will  run  the  forward  end  upon  the  bar, 
just  as  it  is  turning,  and  then  swing  around 
broadside  upon  it.  But  I  guess  we  must  be 
getting  near  the  bridge."  He  struck  upon  the 
oar.  and  the  echoes  came  back  from  the  banks 
nearly  together,  and  in  a  few  seconds  another 
echo  was  heard  below. 

"That's  the  bridge,"  said  the  pilot.  "Go 
forward  and  watch  for  it.  We  want  to  steer 
for  the  middle  arch.  The  current  will  carry 
us  towards  the  right  pier.  Let  us  run  within 
two  or  three  rods  of  it,  and  then  give  orders 
to  pull  to  the  left.  You  give  the  orders, 
Laurie." 

"All  right, "said  Laurie,  going  forward,  with 
a  smile  of  satisfaction  at  the  trust  reposed  in 
him.  He  could  see  the  dark  mass  of  the  bridge 
below  them  stretching  across  the  stream.  It 
was  impossible  for  him  to  distinguish  the  piers, 
however,  until  they  were  quite  close.  He  then 
saw  that  they  were  headed  directly  for  the 
right  pier,  and  that  if  they  went  on  in  the 
same  way  the  raft  would  be  struck  by  it  almost 
in  the  centre.     He  excitedly  yelled,  — 

"Pull  to  the  left!  Pull  to  the  left!  We're 
right  on  it." 

The  pilot  saw  they  Avere  running  too  close, 
and  shouted  to  Pheelim  to  throw  it  up  to  the 
left.  They  pulled  hard,  but  the  current  car- 
ried them  swiftly  down,  and  directly  to.vards 
the  pier. 

"  Pull,  pull !  "  shouted  Laurie.  "  We'll  hit 
it,  any  way." 

The  pilot  ran  to  the  forward  oar  to  help 
Pheelim,  sending  the  boys  to  his  oar.  with  di- 
rections to  pull  to  the  left.  This  double  force 
upon  the  forward  oar  had  the  effect  to  swing 
the  raft  around  faster;  but  they  had  run  too 
close  to  clear  it.  A  brace  ran  down  into  the 
water  from  the  arch,  and  presented  an  inclined 
plane  to  all  rafts  coming  down  the  creek.  The 
corner  of  the  raft  struck  this  with  a  force 
which  almost  threw  the  boys  from  their  feet, 


84 


aMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


and  shook  the  bridge  until  the  timbers  rattled. 
But  it  slid  up  the  brace  until  it  had  swuny 
around  far  enough  to  drop  off,  and  then  shot 
swiftly  under  the  bridge,  grazing  the  piens  as  it 
went. 

"That  shave  was  too  close  for  comfort," 
said  the  pilot. 

'•  That's  what  Pat  Finncgan  said  when  the 
barber  almost  shaved  his  nose  off,"  observed 
Pat.  who  had  been  too  scared  for  action. 

"  It  made  nie  think  of  my  share  of  the 
profits,"  said  Sain.  "  Did  vou  ever  stave  on  ;i 
bridge?"  he  asked  the  pilot. 

"  Only  once,"  he  replied.  '•  The  bridge 
was  just  below  a  rapid,  and  it  was  a  bad 
place  to  steer.  There  were  two  of  us  on  the 
raft,  besides  a  dog,  and  I  was  pulling  the  for- 
ward oar.  The  piers  of  the  bridge  were  simply 
wooden  posts,  with  no  braces  in  them,  as  this 
bridge  has.  Our  raft  was  heavily  loaded,  and  it 
went  through  the  rapids  like  a  race-horse.  The 
fellow  behind  became  a  little  excited,  and 
pulled  the  wrong  way;  ami  we  struck  one  of 
the  piers  kind  o'  cornerwise.  and  knocked  it 
out  quicker'n  a  tlash.  I  saw  it  falling,  and 
made  a  rush  for  the  other  end.  The  raft  went 
through,  and  struck  the  next  pier,  and  then  in 
a  moment  the  briilge  fell  rig'^t  "cross  the  rat., 
cracking  the  boards  and  smashing  the  forward 
end  all  to  pieces.  We  jumped  into  the  waLer, 
and  swam  ashore,  leaving  the  raft  to  care  tVn- 
itself." 

"  What  became  of  the  dog.'"  asko  •  o  ^e  of 
the  boys. 

"  Ho  was  caught  uudcr  the  bridge  and  killed 
on  nearly  the  ■.;...  spot  where  I  stood;  we 
found  him  tuiiic  ^^!lt■ .;  we  cleared  off  the  raft." 

'•  How  di:i  I'ou  r'....  the  raft  after  it  was 
smashed.'"  at^iied  the  boys. 

"We  had  to  raft  it  over  again;  you'll  see 
plenty  of  such  work  before  you  reach  Cin- 
cinnati." 

The  boys  now  lay  down  under  their  shantv, 
and  covering  themselves  with  their  overcoats, 
slept  soundly  until  near  moTing,  when  they 
were  awakened  by  the  pilot. 

"We're  in  a  pretty  muss  now,"  said  he; 
"  shake  yourselves,   and  come  out  here." 

The  boys  were  a  little  stilT  after  sleeping  on 
the  hard  boards,  but  they  quickly  roused  up, 
and  gave  themselves  a  shaking,  which  was  all 
their  dressing. 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  daylight,  and 
pitchy  dark.  Their  lanterns  had  been  lost  when 
they  struck  the  bridge,  and  they  had  no  mate- 
rials for  making  a  light. 

"  What  makes  the  raft  act  so  queer.'"  said 
Sam. 


"  Why,  I  believe  it's  whirling  around,"  said 
Clare. 

••  It  actually  is,"  said  Laurie. 

••What's  tlie  matter.  Brown.'"  No  one 
says  Mr.  on  the  river.  "  We're  in  the  Duck 
Pond,"  said  he. 

'•'I'he  Duck  Pond.'"  queried  Lauri--. 
"What's  tha'.'" 

'•  It's  a  big  eddy;  just  here,  where  tb.;  creek 
is  wider  than  anywiiere  else.  I'd  ought  to 
have  known  better  than  to  get  into  it ;  but  there 
has  been  a  boom  across  it  to  keep  rafts  out  tor 
a  long  lime,  but  it  was  carried  asvay  a  short 
time  ago  by  a  t'reshet,  and  I  had  forgotten  it. 
I  never  thought  a  thing  'bout  it  till  we  were  in 
too  fur  to  get  oiit." 


"That's  what  Pat  Finncgan  said  when  the  barber  almost 
shaved  his  nose  off." 

"  How  large  is  it.'  "  asked  the  boys. 

"  We  go  around  a  circle  of  about  ten  rods. 
You  can  see  the  tops  of  the  hills  where  they 
come  against  the  sky,  and  tell  when  we  make 
a  circle." 

The  boys  sat  down  and  watched  the  peaks 
as  they  came  against  the  hori/on. 

'•  There's  one  we  saw  before."  said  Clare. 
"Where  is  that  peak.  Brown.'" 

"It  is  one  of  the  AUeghenies,  and  is  almost 
in  the  direction  we  wish  to  go." 

"  Well,  this  is  getting  monotonous,"  said 
Sam.     "Can't  you  pull  out.'" 

"No;   the  current  is  too  strong.     We  might 


Vi 


around,"  said 


? "      No  one 
in  the  Duck 

rifd      Lauri'.-. 

lere  tbj  creek 
I'd  ought  to 
!)  it ;  but  there 
p  rafts  out  tor 
asva}-  a  short 
forgotten  it. 
ill  we  were  in 


m 


le  barber  almost 

boys. 

out  ten  rods. 
Is  uhere  they 
rhen  wo  make 

hed  the  peaks 

,"  said   Clare. 

and  is  almost 

itonous,"  said 

g.     Wc  might 


1 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


85 


pull  all  day,  and  not  get  beyond  the  cur- 
rent." 

"  How  will  we  get  out,  then.'"  asked  he. 

"  Throw  a  rope  to  some  of  the  passing  rafts, 
and  let  them  pull  us  out.  Some  rafts  st.^y  in 
here  all  day,  before'another  comes  along  to 
help  iheni  out.  A  couple  of  drunken  men 
were  caught  in  here  once  with  a  skill".  They 
rowetl  around  here  the  whole  night,  supposing 
all  the  while  they  were  going  farther  down 
the  creek.  A  house  stood  on  the  bank  then, 
and  there  was  a  dance  in  it  that  night;  and 
the  men  said,  when  they  were  found  the  next 
morning,  that  it  was  the  greatest  place  for 
dancing  on  this  creek  they  ever  saw,  for  they 
had  rowed  all  night,  and  there  had  been  dan- 
cing in  every  house  they  passed." 


"We're  in  a  pretty  muss  now  ;  sh.i 
out  liere." 


)  ourselves,  and  come 


"  How  far  from  the  eddy  is  the  main  stream.'" 
asked  Laurie. 

"About  a  rope's  th  v,  from  where  tlie 
rafts  run." 

"  How  long  before  there'll  be  a  raft  by?" 

"It  can't  be  a  great  while,  for  none  have 
passed  since  we  have  been  in  here,  and  we 
passed  some  just  before  we  went  under  tlie 
bridge,   You  boys  can  watch  while  I  take  a  nap." 

The  pilot  lay  down  on  the  raft,  under  some 
boards,  with  nothing  but  a  coat  aroimd  him, 
and  was  soon  mingling  his  -.1, ores  with  those 
of  Pheelim,  who  hail  been  a^-.eeji  some  time. 


"Now,  boys,"  said  Laurie,  "there's  no  use 
in  waking  the  pilot  up  when  a  rr.ft  comes  along. 
We  ha\  2  been  watching  things  pretty  close, 
and  I  believe  we  can  manage  the  raft." 

"  I  don't  believe  we  can  pull  the  oars,"  said 
Sam. 

"  Yes,  we  can  ;  don't  you  know  Brown  .sent 
us  to  the  b.ick  oar  to  pull  when  we  went  under 
the  bridge.' " 

"  But  suppose  we  get  the  raft  stuck  on  some 
place  or  stone.'"  said  Clare. 

"  Well,  It's  our  own  lumber,  and  it  will  be 
our  own  loss." 

"Yes;  but  I  don't  like  the  idea  oflosing  our 
lumber.  Just  think  of  the  money  we'll  have 
to  take  home,  if  we  go  through  all  right,"  said 
Clare. 

"Well,  we  can  t.y  it,"  said  Sam;  "and  if 
we  see  anythin','  going  wrong,  we'll  wake  up 
Brown." 

It  was  nov/  nearly  d.-iylight,  and  the  boys 
could  distinguish  objects  on  the  shore.  They 
saw  that  the  eddy  was  a  large  pond,  looking 
as  if  cut  out  oi  the  side  of  the  Cieek  by  the 
force  of  the  water,  and  forming  a  large  circle, 
which  at  times  carried  the  raft  so  near  the  bank 
that  they  could  alinost  leaj>  to  lani'.  A  farm- 
house stood  not  far  from  the  bank,  and  they 
could  ;'ear  the  farm  boys  in  the  cow-yard,  and 
the  occfipar.i.s  scii  ring  about  the  house. 

"  I  Wish  I  could  ','et  some  milk  to  drink," 
said  Clare,   "  for  I   begin  to  feel  htingry." 

"  W'l  i;ot  jump  off,  and  bay  s  jii.iji^iing  at 
thi't  farm-hou: c' ''    aid  Laurie. 

'  I  be:(Ove  I  cjiild  leap  ashore  if  you  boys 
wo  !(!  ;iui]  the  nift  around  a  ii'tle,  where  it 
CO'         so  nei.r  !hat  point,"  said  Clare. 

'  .  ry  it,'"  said  Laurie.  "You  can  got  us 
somt  cakes  and  cheese,  and  we  can  make  u 
good  bieakfa-rt;  but  you  had  better  hurry 
before  a  raft  comes  along." 

Sam  and  Lai;rie  pulled  the  forward  end  of 
the  raft  as  ni^ar  the  shore  as  possible,  and  Clare, 
taking  a  little  run,  sprang  upon  the  land. 
"  A'l  right  1  "  said  he.  "  I'll  be  back  in  a  few 
momei.:s." 

He  found  the  farmer's  wife  busily  engaged 
in  getting  breakfast.  Everything  looked  neat 
and  honn  -  like  about  the  house,  and  the  woman 
showed  signs  of  education  and  refinement. 
He  told  hor  his  errand,  and  she  generously 
loaded  liin  with  cakes,  and  cut  a  huge  piece 
of  cheese  from  a  large  one  which  lay  on  a 
table.  She  refused  the  pa\'  which  Clan;  of- 
fered her,  and  gave  him  :\  glass  of  the  new 
milk  which  the  farm  b^ys  brought  in. 

He  hoatened  to  the  rafi,  and  showed  the 
boys  hiu  ioad. 


i  : 


86 


AMONG    THE     RA^^TSMEN. 


"She  refused  all  pay,"  said  Clare,  "and 
said  we  were  welcome." 

"  Well,  that  was  a  generous  act,"  said  £am, 
"and  I  think  I  am  able  to  appreciate  it,"  tak- 
ing a  large  bite  of  the  cakes. 

The  boys  enjoyed  their  lunch,  and  had  just 
finished  it  as  a  raft  came  in  sight  around  a 
bend,  followed  by  several  others.  They  fixed 
the  cable  to  be  thrown. 

"  Give  us  a  lift.'"  said  Laurie,  as  the  first 
raft  came  opposite. 

"  Yes  ;  throw  your  cable." 

Laurie  threw  the  cable  as  far  as  he  could, 
but  it  fell  short. 

'■  You'll  have  to  wait  for  the  next  raft," 
shouted  the  raftsmen. 

Laurie  drew  the  cable  in,  and  again  made 
ready  for  a  throw.  The  next  raft  came  oppo 
site  just  as  he  was  on  the  outmost  circle,  anu 
there  was  but  a  short  distance  intervening", 
but  by  an  unlucky  kink  in  the  rope,  it  fell 
short  again. 

LaurTc  began  to  tliink  he  had  made  a  mis- 
take in  not  calling  the  pilot ;  but  he  determined 
to  try  it  once  more. 

"  Here's  a  smaller  rope,"  said  Sam,  "  per- 
haps you  can  do  something  with  it." 

"  I  could  if  1  had  a  block,"  said  Laurie. 

"  How  will  this  do.'"  said  Clare,  picking  up 
a  piece  of  a  grub,  ..i.^t  haii  been  left  %n  the 
raft. 

"That's  what  I  want." 

He  tied  the  end  of  the  small  rope  to  the 
block,  and  the  other  end  to  the  cable,  .\nother 
rafi  had  now  come  opposit.  them,  and  Laurie 
picked  upthe  small  rope,  and  swung  the  block 
around  in  a  circle,  as  boys  do  when  they  tlirow 
stones  with  a  ding.  Then,  letting  go  with  a 
hard  swinjr,  he  sent  the  block  upon  the  other 
raft.  By  means  of  the  small  rope  the  cable  was 
drawn  to  the  raft,  and  fastened,  and  then  the 
boys  began  to  pull,  Laurie  taking  the  forward 
oar,  and  th-.-  others  tjie  rear  one. 

"Do  you  boys  run  that  raft!"  asked  the 
men. 

"Yes J  we  own  it,"  said  Laurie. 

"We've  heard  of  you.  You  pulled  us  oflf 
from  the  bar  last  night,  and  so  we  return  the 
compliment.     Where's  your  pilot.'" 

"  He's  asleep,  and  .ve're  going  to  run  the 
raft  until  he  wakes  up." 

"You  better  be  careful,  or  you'll  run  it  into 
the  ground." 

"O,  we  can  follow  you;  and  the  pilot  said 
it  was  jjood  running  below  here." 

The  raft  had  now  readied  the  main  current, 
and  the  cable  was  cast  ofl'  and  drawn  in. 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Laurie,  "I'll   be   pilot, 


and  you  must  obey  me,  every  wcjid,  or  we 
may  get  aground." 

The  boys  soon  found  that  their  raft  ran 
faster  than  the  other,  and  that  they  were 
gaining  on  them. 

"  What  will  you  do  if  this  raft  runs  into  the 
other.'"  asked  Clare. 

"I  don't  know,"  .5aid  Laurie,  looking  puz- 
zled, as  he  saw  the  distance  between  the  two 
rafts  swiftly  diminishing. 

Just  below  them  was  a  sharp  bend  in  the 
creek,  and  as  the  forward  raft  turned  this,  the 
boys,  running  their  raft  too  near  the  shore, 
struck  against  the  corner  of  it  with  a  force 
which  nearly  started  the  boards,  and  awoke 
the  two  sleepers. 


Clare  anc".  the  Farmer's  Wife. 

"  Where  are  we.'"  said  the  pilot,  as  he  saw 
the  raft  was  not  in  the  Duck  Pond,  where 
he  went  to  sleep. 

"Going  on  our  own  hook,"  said  Laurie,  a 
little  crest-fallen, 

"  Pull  off  there!  "  shouted  the  pilot  of  the 
forward  raft.  "You  are  pushing  us  agaiiivf 
the  bank." 

The  boys'  raft,  striking  the  corner  of  the 
other,  was  pushing  it  across  the  creek  in  spite 
of  the  ef^'orts  of  the  men,  and  there  was  dan- 
ger of  staving  on  the  shore. 

"Take  the  forward  oar,  Pheelim,"  said  (lie 
pilot,  seeing  the  difficulty  at  a  glance.  "  Throw 


I 


L       -J 


f  i 


%v<}rci.   or  we 

leir  rait  ran 
it    thov    were 

runs  into  tlie 

looking  puz- 
veen  tl^o  two 

bend  in  the 
ned  this,  the 
ir  the  sliore, 
with  a  force 
,  and   awoke 


m 


ii£L- 


it,  as  he  saw 
Pond,  where 

^id  Laurie,  a 

pilot  of  tho 
X  us    ai{aiii--t 

orner  of  the 
:reek  in  s|iite 
;re  was   dan- 

m,"  said  the 
ice.  "Throw 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


^ 


it  up  to  the  right ;  "  at  the  same  time  he  pulled 
the  stern  oar  to  the  left. 

The  other  raft  had  now  been  pushed  so  near 
the  opposite  bank,  that  there  was  room  for  the 
bov'-'  raft  to  run  b_v.  The  pilot  took  advantage 
of  thii  opportunity-,  and  steering  to  the  right 
through  this  opening,  soon  left  the  other 
raft  behind. 

'•That  was  a  bad  fix,"  said  the  pilot.  "  I  low 
did  vou  come  down  here,  and  in  it?  " 

The  bovs  told  him  their  adventures,  and 
how  they  got  out  of  the  Duck  Pond. 

'•Well,  that  was  a  pretty  ingenious  way,- 
and  you  might  have  got  out  of  this  all  right; 
but  it  was  lucky  I  awoke,  for  there  is  a  dam 
just  below  here  to  run,  and  you  would  never 
have  got  through  it  without  staving." 


"Faitli,  that  was  the  greatest  kick  I  ever  had." 

"What  kind  of  a  thing  is  it?"  asked  Clare. 

"  Why,  it  is  a  dam  built  across  the  creek  to 
run  a  saw-mill.  There  are  not  so  many  here 
now,  since  they  use  steam,  but  they  have  them 
bv  all  the  villages.  Here  it  is,  and  plenty  on 
it,  to  see  us  go  through." 

The  dam  looked  like  a  bridge  without  any 
railing  from  where  the  boys  were,  except  tliat 
it  was  boarded  up  at  each  end  for  five  or  six 
feet  above  the  water,  and  nearly  across  the 
stream,  the  only  opening  being  in  the  middle, 
through  which  the  rafts  ran.  Through  this 
opening  the  water  poured  with  a  loud  noise. 
There  was  no  tall,  however,  the  bottom  of  the 


dam  being  made  by  laying  plank  so  as  to  ftjrm 
a  long  chute,  and  large  timbers  were  placed 
for  the  sides,  the  whole  looking  not  unlike  the 
chutes,  made  by  boys  for  their  water-wheels. 
The  force  of  the  water,  pouring  through  the 
chute  forms  a  bar  below  the  dam,  on  which 
the  rafts  are  often  stove  or  stuck. 

The  dam  was  crowded  with  the  village  boys 
to  see  them  run  it,  and  there  were  a  number 
of  persons  on  the  bank.  The  boys  became 
greatly  excited  as  they  neared  the  dam,  and 
were  still  more  so  when  they  saw  the  water 
foaming  through  the  chute.  The  pilot  steered 
directly  for  the  opening,  the  raft  running 
swifter  and  swifter  as  it  approached  it. 

"  Now,  take  care  of  your  oar,  Pheelim,"  said 
the  pilot,  and  '•  don't  let  it  be  caught  in  the 
swirls,  when  the  raft  plunges  below." 

The  swirls  are  eddies  formed  by  the  raft,  as 
it  plunges  into  the  water  at  the  bottom  of  a 
chute,  and  which  will  sometimes  break  oars 
when  caught  in  them. 

The  raft  slightly  dipped  as  it  went  through 
the  opening,  and  then,  as  it  shot  down  the 
chute  and  dipped  its  forward  end  deep  in  the 
water  belo  v,  it  seemed  to  be  covered  with 
foam.  The  water  flew  high  above  their  heads, 
and  fell  in  thick  spray  upon  the  raft,  almost 
wetting  tlicin  through.  The  boys  upon  the 
d;un  yelled  and  hurrahed,  and  the  people 
shook  their  handkerchiefs  and  cheered. 

But  Phcclini,  forgetting  the  advice  of  the 
pilot,  or  confused  by  the  Hying  water,  let  his 
oar  drop  into  the  swirls;  and  so  quickly  was  it 
llung  around,  that  lie  was  thrown  into  the 
water.  The  boy^  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  raft, 
and,  as  he  rose,  grasped  hi>  hands  and  helped 
him  upon  the  raft. 

"  Faith,  that  was  the  greatest  kick  I  ever 
had,"  said  he,  blowing  the  water  from  his 
mouth  and  nose.  •'  That  oar  laped  like  a  boss, 
and  the  next  moment  kicked,  and  I  warn't 
where  I  was  at  all,  but  just  somewhere  else." 
The  pilot  and  the  boys  laughed  heartily  at 
the  ludircous  figure  he  niadC;  in  spite  of  the 
danger  he  had  been  in. 

They  had  passed  the  bars  11  right,  and  in  a 
little  while  they  reached  Pine  grove,  where 
they  found  Mr.  Norton  with  the  rafts.  Here 
they  tied  up,  and  went  on  shore  to  find  a  pilot 
to  take  them  tluough  the  rapids. 


mmnmM^^  I  mi;  -^ 


88 


AMONG    THE    RAFTSMEN. 


It  is  too  late  now,"  ckieu  the  Pilot,     Page  9-:. 


AMONG  THE  RAFTSMEN. 

VBV   FRANK    H.    TAYLOR. 
/ 

rV.-BUNNrNG  THE  RAPIDS. 

''  I  ""HE  bank  where  the  rafts  were  tied  was 
•*■  covered  with  raftMiien  when  tlie  bovs 
landed.  The  pilots  and  owners  of  the  rafts 
stood  b_v  themselves,  talkii-;^  of  the  market  and 
lumber,  wliile  the  vour.ger  raftsmen  formed  a 
group  b\  themselves,  where  they  were  testinjj 
the  superiority  of  each  other's  muscle  in  box- 
ing and  Wicstling.  Most  of  these  latter  were 
young  men  of  about  eifi;hteen  or  twentv,  living 
in  neighboring  towns  on  the  head-waters  of 
the  creek.  They  had  often  met  in  these  sports, 
at  elections  and  town  meetings,  before,  and 
now  wished  to  gain  more  honors,  or  r-trieve 
lost  ones,  over  their  old  rivals 

The  boys  strolled  up  to  the  group  of  young 
men  to  see  the  sport.  A  ring  was  formed  by 
the  spectators,  and  in  this  the  actors  were 
struggling.  The  "' best  men  "  from  two  rival 
villages  were  matched  against  each  other  in  a 
wrestle,  which  i>  the  favoritf  sport  of  hoys  d' 
men  on  the  river.  The  excitement  is  intense 
as  the  wrestle  proceeds,  and  now  one  and  then 
the  other  seems  to  have  the  advantage;  and 
when  at  last  one  gains  the  victory,  he  is  cheered 
lustily  by  both  friend  and  rival.     Hut  he  must 


hokl  his  position  as  victor  of  the  ring  bv 
wrestles  with  the  best  man  from  each  village 
repiesented  among  the  rafts.  The  man  who 
is  victor  in  the  last  contest  is  termed  "  bully," 
his  prowess  is  reported  to  the  other  rafts,  and 
at  each  place  of  landing  he  will  be  called  on 
in  a  wrestle. 

The  hovs  watched  the  sport  until  the  pilot 
called  to  tliem,  and  said  they  must  have  a  pilot 
to  run  the  rapids. 

"  Can't  you  run  it.'"  asked  Laurie. 

"No;  I  have  not  been  through  them  for 
some  time;  and  it  is  best  not  to  risk  it,"  said 
the  pilot. 

"  Where  can  we  find  a  pilot.'"  asked  Laurie. 

"  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  shosv  3'ou,"  said 
the  pilot. 

They  walked  down  to  the  creek,  and  the  pi- 
lot led  them  towards  a  group  of  men  stand- 
ing there. 

"  Get  one  of  those,"  said  he,  "  and  we  will 
start  pretty  soon,  as  we  have  rested  long 
enough." 

"  I'll  attend  to  it," said  Laurie,  who  had  done 
most  of  the  business  since  they  started. 

As  Laurie  neared  them  he  was  struck  by  their 
strange  appearance.  They  were  dressed  in 
poorer  clothes  than  raftsmen  usually  wear; 
they  wore  moccasons,  and  there  was  a  crin- 
ging appearance  about  them  which  Laurie  did 


i 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


he  ring  bv 
!acli  villaij;e 
J  man  who 
d  "bully," 
r  rafts,  and 
s  called  on 

il  the  pilot 
lave  a  pilot 


1    them  for 
5k  it,"  said 

<ed  Laurie. 
■  you,"  said 

and  the  pi- 
nen   stand- 

nd  we  will 
ested    long 

o  had  done 

'ted. 

jck  by  their 

dressed  in 

ally  wear; 

vas  a  crin- 

Laurie  did 


not  like.  But  what  seemed  to  him  the  most 
siii;,'ular  was  their  color.  It  was  not  black 
enough  for  negroes,  and,  besides,  their  hair 
was  long  and  straight. 

"Indians,"  thought  Laurie,  as  he  came 
nearer. 

And  in  spite  of  his  manliness  he  was  a  little 
afraid  of  them  as  he  remembered  the  stories 
he  had  read  of  "  the  cruel  red  man." 

lie  stepped  up  to  one  whom  he  thought  the 
best  looking,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  a  pilot. 

'•  Ugh,  me  pilot,"  said  the  Indian,  in  broken 
English. 

'•  What's  your  price?" 

"  Vou  give  me,  how  much.?" 

"  One  dollar." 


't 


Wrestling  amonR  the  Raftsmen. 

"  No  enough.    Me  take  two." 

'•  No,  you  won't.  I  can't  give  you  but  one," 
said  Laurie,  who  knew  the  price  usually  paid. 

"No;  me  take  one  and  half,"  said  the  In- 
dian. 

"  I'll  find  some  one  else,  I  guess,"  said  Lau- 
rie, turning  away. 

"Me  take  it,"  said  the  Indian,  following  him. 

"Come  on,  then."  said  Laurie.  leading  the 
way  to  the  raft,  where  the  pilot  and  boys  were. 

"Did  you  ever  run  the  rapids?"  asked  the 
pilot  of  the  Indian. 

"Yes;  I  run  him  much,"  responded  the  In- 
dian. 

"What's  your  name?" 


8^ 

"John  Halfmoon." 

"  Ik's  all  right,  boys;  I've  heard  of  him," 
said  the  pilot. 

"Where  do  these  Indians  live?"  asked 
Laurie. 

"At  their  reservation  on  the  Alleghany. 
They  have  some  land  set  otT  for  them  by  the 
government,  where  they  live  under  their  own 
laws  and  chiefs.  Most  of  them  have  good 
houses,  and  are  quite  wealthy.  Thev  are  the 
best  pilots  we  have  on  the  river,  knowing  every 
turn  and  rock;  and  they  have  a  native-born 
coolness  in  danger." 

Pheelim  soon  came  down  to  the  raft;  they 
then  cast  off.  and  began  pulling  into  ihc 
stream.  A  number  of  other  rafts  were  also 
pulling  out  at  the  t^ame  time,  and  the  stream 
seemed  to  be  covered  with  lumber.  Some  of 
the  rafts  coming  from  up  the  stream,  having  pi- 
lots on  board  who  couUl  run  the  rapids,  did  not 
tie  up,  but  attetn|)tod  to  run  by  those  which  were 
tying  up  or  pulling  out.  One  of  these,  which 
contained  four  pieces,  and  was  heavily  loaded, 
struck  against  a  light  one.  which  was  at  that 
moment  pulling  out,  crushing  in  the  boards 
of  the  lighter  one  as  if  they  were  sticks,  and 
crowding  it  down  upon  the  rafts  below  it.  The 
next  raft  was  the  one  belonging  to  the  boys, 
which  was  also  pulling  out.  and  below  this 
was  one  tied  to  the  shore.  The  two  rafts  were 
but  a  few  rods  above  them,  and  bearing  dow^n 
swiftly. 

"There'll  be  a  stave  here,  if  we're  not  care- 
ful," said  the  pilot,  as  he  saw  the  rafts  bear 
down  upon  them;  "and  unless  we  get  clear 
of  this  one  below,  it  will  be  all  day  with  us." 

"  Pull,  pull  I  "  said  the  Indian ;  "  m.iybe  me 
get  clear." 

"  We  can't  do  it,"  said  the  pilot,  as  he  saw 
the  rafts  were  bearing  down  too  swiftly  for 
their  escape. 

He  turned  to  the  raft  below  him.  There  was 
but  ten  feet  of  water  between  the  two  rafts, 
and  those  above  them  were  already  within 
that  distance.  He  saw  that  if  their  raft  was 
caught  between  them,  it  would  be  crushed  like 
a  cockle  shell. 

"  We're  in  for  it,  boys,"  said  he.  "  Now, 
take  care  of  yourselves.  The  moment  the 
rafts  touch,  spring  upon  the  one  tied  to  the 
shore,  and  run  for  the  bank." 

"  Me  save  it,"  said  the  Indian,  picking  up  iin 
axe.  •■  You  pull,  pull  like  everything,  and  me 
all  right." 

As  he  said  this,  he  sprang  over  the  inter- 
vening space,  upon  the  raft  which  was  tieil  ^o 
the  shore,  and  ran  across  it  to  where  the  cable 
was  fastened.     This  he  severed  with  one  quick 


«MlNi 


■HUM 


kp 


Jf^m^mi^vmm 


90 


AMONG     THE     KAFTSMEN. 


blow  of  the  hatchet,  and  darted  back  to  the 
raft.  The  pilot  saw  the  Indian's  plan,  and 
telling  I'heclim  to  pull  his  best,  exerted  all  his 
strength  upon  tlie  oar.  Being  thus  loosened 
from  the  bank,  the  lower  raft  swung  down  with 
the  current,  and  just  in  time,  for  the  rafts 
above  were  already  within  a  few  feet,  and 
there  was  still  danger  of  a  collision.  This  was 
prevented,  however,  by  the  Indian,  who  grasped 
a  long  pole  as  he  sprang  upon  the  raft,  and 
placing  it  against  those  above,  began  push- 
ing. This  example  was  followed  by  the  boys, 
and  by  their  united  elVorts  the  raft  was  80on 
clear. 

But  below  them  the  creek  was  still  filled  for 
nearly  a  mile  with  rafts,  and  there  was  con- 
stant danger  of  a  collision  as  they  passed 
along.  The  Indian  pilot,  however,  was  perfect- 
ly cool,  and  had  not  seemed  excited  even  when 
danger  appeared  most  imminent.  He  gave 
his  orders  in  a  single  word,  or  with  ."  ,'esture; 
and  the  boys,  who  had  become  omewhat 
excited  during  the  above  scene,  were  quite 
cool  as  they  watched  him.  Several  times  they 
bumped  against  other  rafts,  and  once  struck 
so  hard  as  to  start  the  boards,  and  rouse  the 
boys'  fears. 

"  I'm  glad  that's  through  with,"  said  Sam, 
as  they  passed  the  last  raft.  '•  A  fellow  didn't 
know  whether  he  \vas  rich  or  not  while  run- 
ning through  there." 

"  But  here  comes  something  worse  yet,"  said 
the  pilot. 

"What's  that.'" 

"  The  rapids.  Don't  you  see  how  much 
swifter  the  water  runs;  and  you  can  sec  down 
below  there  that  it  is  full  of  bars  and  rocks." 

"  How  far  is  it  like  that.'" 

'•  All  the  way  to  Warren,  about  eight  miles, 
and  we  can  run  it  in  an  hour." 

"Why,  that's  almost  a  mile  in  seven  min- 
utes," said  Laurie. 

"  Yes;  and  as  we  are  the  first  over  this  sea- 
son, we  must  be  more  than  usually  careful." 

The  water  was  clear  of  rafts  below  them,  as 
they  were  the  first  to  pull  out,  and  just  behind 
them  came  Mr.  Norton's  rafts.  The  water  was 
quite  high,  as  it  must  be  to  ci'.-ar  the  bars, 
rocks,  and  islands,  of  which  the  river  seemed 
to  be  full.  Every  few  rods  the  raft  would  be 
pulled  to  the  right  or  left,  and  they  would 
glide  by  some  bar  of  sand,  or  a  rock  which 
almost  reached  to  the  surface.  The  men  were 
kept  pullinj;  all  of  the  time,  and  the  boys  now 
and  then  lent  a  helping  hand  at  one  of  the 
oars.  Besides  these  rocks  and  bars,  the  sur- 
face of  the  w:'ter  was  covered  with  lumber, 
creek  rubbish,  and  floating  trees.     In  places 


islands  were  covtied  witn  water,  and  the  tree* 
growing  upon  them  looked  as  if  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  river. 

•'  These  are  hard  places  to  run,"  said  the 
pilot,  as  they  passed  one  of  the  islands,  where 
the  boys  could  see  the  batik  within  a  lew  feet 
of  the  raft.  "The  wau  r  very  often  moves 
parts  of  the  land,  with  the  tree^,  into  the  ili.iii- 
nel  where  we  usually  run,  and  we  mu-,t  find 
new  channels." 

"  There's  one  ahead  that  looks  as  if  it  was 
across  the  creek,"  said  Laurie,  pointing  to  a 
tree  standing  almost  in  their  course. 

"  It  does  look  like  it,"  said  the  pilot.  "I'll 
ask  the  Indian.  —  Isn't  that  a  change  in  the 
current,  John?" 


"No  enuugh.    Me  take  two." 

"  Looks  so,"  said  the  Indian.  "  We  run  it 
down." 

"What's  he  going  to  do?"  asked  Sam. 

"  He  thinks  he  can  run  against  it  and  knock 
it  down,"  said  the  pilot.  "  The  roots  are 
probably  loosened  by  the  water,  and  at  the 
rate  we  are  going  we  can  run  it  under.  There 
are  bars  on  each  side,  so  we  can't  turn  out." 

The  tree  was  a  small  one,  not  more  than  a 
foot  through,  but  was  thickly  branched.  It 
was  submerged  for  three  or  four  feet,  and 
leaned  slightly  down  the  stream.  The  Indian 
stood  on  the  forward  end,  and  coolly  gave  his 
orders,  running  straight  to  the  tree.  The  raft 
struck  it  with  great  torce,  toppling  it  over,  and 


• 


.a 


A  M  ( )  N  < ;    T  I !  i:     K  A  1'  1'  S  M  i:  N  , 


9« 


nd  the  truuB 
standing  in 

[),"  said  the 
ands,  vvlicrc 
n  a  li'W  feet 
Dl'ten  moves 
to  the  cli.tn- 
e  niu->t  find 

as  if  it  wnx 
)inting  to  a 

se. 

pilot,    "rii 

antiC   in  the 


'  We  run  it 

J  Sam. 

t  and  knock 

e   roots  are 

and  at  tiie 
der.  There 
turn  out." 
lore  than  a 
•anched.  It 
r  feet,  and 
The  Indian 
\y  ,t,'ave  his 
;.     The  raft 

it  over,  and 


I 


I? 


h 


bearing  it  down  under  the  waters.  Tlie  bov-. 
could  hear  the  branches  scraping  and  scrateh- 
ing  on  tht  bo'lom  of  the  raft,  a.->  it  went  un- 
der, and  then  it  roiled  up  behind,  coinpletolv 
loo.>ened  from  the  earth. 

Mr.  Norton  was  piloting  the  raft  behind 
them,  and  as  he  saw  the  tree  rise  up  within  a 
few  feet  of  him,  he  attempted  to  pass  by  pull- 
ing to  one  side.  The  tree  caught  upon  a  sand- 
bar, and  wai  rolled  up  by  the  force  of  the  wa- 
ters until  the  branches  and  greater  part  of  the 
trunk  were  out  of  water,  while  the  roots  were 
still  submerged.  In  the  attempt  to  pull  the 
raft  aside,  it  swung  around,  and  caught 
broadside    upon    the    tree    near    its    middle, 


"Me  save  it." 

and  the  next  moment  it  broke  apart  where 
the  pieces  were  coupled  together,  throw- 
ing the  lumber  and  sliingles  into  the  creek. 
One  of  tlie  pieces  thus  broken  apart  floated 
down  in  the  direct  channel,  while  the  other 
stuck  on  the  bar.  Mr.  Norton  was  upon  the 
floating  piece,  and  began  to  catch  the  lumber 
whicli  had  been  thrown  into  tlie  water,  while 
those  upon  the  bar  commenced  uiirafting, 
throwing  the  boards  into  the  creek,  to  be 
floated  down  until  they  could  be  drawn  ashore 
and  rafted  again. 

"What  will  father  do  with  his  raft,'"  asked 
Sam. 

"  Run  it  to  Warren,  and  wait  until  the  other 
piece   is   rafted.      He  can  run  it  down  with 


one  oar,  and  a  board  for  a  ruddrr,  said  the 
pilot. 

They  were  now  nearly  through  the  rapids, 
and  the  boys  were  congratulating  themselves 
upon  the  security  of  their  rait.  They  were 
bitting  upon  the  ^hiIigles  talking  of  tli'.ir  jdun-. 
when  the  raft  struck  a  bar  with  a  shuck  that 
sent  them,  shingles  and  all,  rolling  ujion  the 
raft. 

"What's  up?"  said  Laurie,  springing  to  his 
feet. 

"Stuck  on  a  bar.  I  guess,"  said  the  pilot, 

"The  raft  has  stopped  entirely,"  said  Sam, 
"and  those  other  rafts  will  be  running  into  us," 

"  Maybe  we  can  get  it  otf  before  they  get 
here,"  said  the  pilot.  "  If  it  isn't  on  too  hard 
we  can  pry  it  otr." 

'•  This  new  one,  never  here  bcfon  ;  but  we 
get  off,"  said  the  Indian,  as  he  commenced 
|)ulling  olf  hi.',  moccasons. 

''  Olf  with  your  boots,  Pheelim.  —  And  you, 
boys,  can  help  us,"  said  the  pilot. 

The  boys  undressed  their  feet,  rolled  up  their 
trousers,  and  picked  up  some  of  the  hand- 
spikes that  had  been  put  on  board.  The  wa- 
ter was  not  o\cr  two  feet  deep  here;  and  the 
boys  were  soon  beside  the  men  in  the  water, 

"  Suppose  you  couldn't  pry  the  rait  otf,"  said 
Sam  ;   '•  what  would  you  do  then  }  " 

"Unra''t  it,  or.  perhaps,  only  take  the  shin- 
gles olT,  and  make  it  lighter," 

"  But  some  of  the  rafts  would  run  into  us  by 
that  time,"  said  Clare, 

••  And  maybe  that  would  shove  us  oil",''  said 
the  pilot.  "  Uut  if  the  raft  g<K-s  olV  in  a  hurry, 
you  boys  must  spring  for  it,  or  you  may  be 
left  on  the  bar." 

The  raft  had  run  on  to  the  bar  sornc  dis- 
tance, and  they  found  it  hard  to  move  it;  be- 
sides, the  sand  was  too  soft  to  m.ike  a  good 
fulcrum,       ' 

"This  will  never  do,"  said  the  pilot,  after 
they  had  worked  some  time,  "We  must  try 
some  other  means." 

"  Why  can't  we  shovel  the  sand  .away  ? "  said 
Laurie.  "  We  might  use  pieces  of  boards  as 
shovels." 

"Just  the  thing,"  said  the  pilot. 

They  provided  themselves  with  pieces  of 
boards,  and  using  them  as  shovels,  they  soon 
cleared  aw:;/  a  large  space  beneath  the  raft. 

"  Now  use  the  boards  for  levers,"  said  the 
pilot.  "Now,  all  ready.  Yo,  heave!  and  olf 
she  goes !  " 

The  last  lift  started  it,  and  it  floated  olT,  all 
springing  upon  the  raft  but  Sam.  lie  had  been 
too  slow,  and  before  he  could  gather  himself, 
the  raft  was  too  far  for  a  leap. 


Ili 


93 


AMONC;     TIIK     RAITS.MKN. 


"That's  nil  uiufiVTiinnioiis  li-avc  t^ikin;;." 
said  Sam,  as  the  ratt  tlnateil  awn  v.  •■  llallou! 
ain't  vou  t{f>ing  to  take  me  on  hoard?" 

'•It's    too    late    now,"    »li»iited    the   pilot. 

Yo.ir  father's  raft  will  take  \uu  oil"  in  two 
minutes." 

"  Milt  I  hhali  drown  !  "  shouted  .Sam. 

"Can't  we  net  him?"askfil  Clare  and  Lau- 
rie, who  bewail  to  he  afraid  he  might  be 
drowned,  altlioiif;h  they  h.id  laughed  when 
lliev  tirsi  saw  him  left  on  the  bar. 

'•  The  water  isn't  deep  erioui{h  to  drown  him," 
said  tlie  pilot.  "And  you  see  his  father's  raft 
is  already  in  sijjht,  and  will  reach  him  before 
we  eaii.  — Stand  where  vou  are,  and  you're  all 
ri;{ht."  he  shouted  to  .Sam. 

'■  Well,  I've  heard  of  slilpwrecked  sailors  on 
islands  before  now,  but  I  don't  believe  tlie 
island  was  under  water.  But  the  water  is 
ktrowing  cold,  and  theie  is  no  earl  lily  place  to 
repose  here,"  said  .Sam,  as  he  retreated  to  the 
highest  point  of  the  bar,  which  was  only  two 
or  three  inches  under  water. 

Mr.  Norton's  single  piece  was  now  close  to 
the  bar,  and  Sam  waded  out  as  far  as  he  couKl 
to  reach  it. 

"What  does  this  mean?  How  came  you 
here?"  asked  Mr.  Norton,  as  he  pulled  Sam 
upon  the  raft. 

"  Circumstances  over  which  I  had  nc  con- 
trol," saiil  Sam,  laughing  at  the  thought  of 
his  ativenture. 

He  then  told  Mr.  Nort.jn  of  their  accident, 
and  how  he  happened  to  be  left. 

"  Well,  your  clothes  are  noi  wet;  so  I  guess 
you  won't  catch  cold;  but  you  had  better  wrap 
yourself  up,"  said  his  father. 

Sam  wrapped  himself  in  his  father's  great- 
coat, and  sittmg  down  upon  the  raft,  soon  felt 
as  well  as  ever. 

The  boys'  raft  reached  Warren  without  any 
more  accidents,  and  Sam  found  them  o-i  the 
raft  waiting  forhim.  Mr.  Norton  immediatelv 
began  coupling  his  rafts  together,  and  making 
everything  ready  to  start  on  the  morrow.  The 
rafts  were  built  three  pieces  wide  and  twcntv- 
one  long,  with  three  bars  at  e.ich  end.  Near 
the  centre  of  these  rafts  their  house,  or  shantv. 
was  built,  consisting  of  a  single  room,  and 
with  wooden  bunks  on  the  sides,  filled  with 
straw,  forsleeping-pUices.  The  shanties  upon 
those  rafts  where  there  were  ladies  were  divid- 
ed into  two  apartments. 

The  boys  made  arrangements  to  couple  Ihei.- 
rat't  with  some  of  Mr.  Norton's;  their  own 
pilot  was  to  run  it.  and  Mr.  Norton  was  to 
furnish  the  men  for  the  whole  raft.  The  boys 
were  to  run  it  as  their  own  until  there  was  a 


chance  for  a  sale.  'I'lieir  rait  was  soon  couple. I, 
a  shanty  built,  and  everything  reach  for  a  ^tart. 
A  large  number  of  rafts  had  now  come  in, 
and  they  reported  nearly  a  dozen  rafts  stove 
on  the  rapids.  This  statement  was  soon  veri- 
fied by  the  lumber  which  came  lloaling  down 
the  creek. 


The  men  were  busy  all  that  day  catching 
their  timber  and  rafting  their  broken  rafts. 
The  boys  worked  with  the  men,  assisting  any 
who  needed  help,  aiul  doing  good  ser\!cc  in 
catching  lumber.  They  became  well  known 
among  the  raftsmen  as  the  boy  lutnberers. 
They  took  their  honors,  however,  quite  coolly, 
although  they  talked  it  over  at  night  before 
they  went  to  sleep,  anil  told  each  other  what 
they  had  heard  the  men  say  of  them  through 
the  day. 


'A 


^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  M580 

(716)  872-4503 


1 


M 


b 


1.0 


I.I 


11.25 


[frilM  IIM 

•^  IM    1 2.2 

^  i^  lllllio 


1.4 


1.8 


1.6 


■  i 


5^ 


b    A 


% 


i 


M 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


^^i^it^.'i  .■sis-^''*^* 


i^ 


± 


AMONG    THE    RAFTSMEN. 


93 


Laurie  anu  Miss  Coatks  in   riiii  Watkr.     Page  </i. 


T 


AMONG  THE  RAFTSMEN. 

BY    FH'.NK    H.    TAYT.OR. 

v.- ON  THE  HIVER. 

WE  bovs  ^veie  awakened  the  next  morn- 
ini;  bv  tlie  pilot  kiiockin'^  at  tlieir  door. 

"  Ciet  up,  bovs.  We're  all  ready  to  start 
now,"  i-aid  he.     "  He  lively  about  it." 

Thev  liaslilv  dressed,  and  went  down  stairs, 
■where  they  found  the  pilot  awaltiu'j;  them. 

"What's  the  hurry  this  morn i ng .'"  .asked 
Laurie. 

"  We  want  to  pull  out  before  any  of  the  oth- 
er rafts  start,"  said  the  pilot;  "then  we  shall 
liave  the  way  clear  before  us." 

They  founti  a  boat  waiting;  for  them  by  the 
bank,  and  a  boatman,  which  the  pilot  had 
hired.  The  bank  of  the  .Mle'^iianv  was  lined 
for  miles  with  rafts,  that  had  been  i()miii<f  in 
all  ni'.jht,  both  from  the  creek  and  river.  I'pon 
each  of  these  a  shanty  had  been  built,  and  in 
most  of  them  a  fne  was  burning,  the  whole 
scene  lookinij  like  a  villai;e  on  the  water. 

"Why,  how  many  r:ifts  are  there  here.'' 
asked  Clare,  after   they  had  rowed  some  time. 

"  I  guesB  they'd  cover  ni^h  ten  or  twelve 
acres."  said  the  pilot,  and  tiiat's  the  reason  we 
want  to  start  early,  to  get  clear  of  the  jam." 


"  What  if  some  one  else  should  try  to  be  as 
sharp  as  vmi .' "  said  Laurie. 

'•1  wouldn't  say  anything  agin  it;  but  I'd 
do  mv  best  to  heat  'em,"  said  the  pilot. 

'•  Von's  one  looks  as  if  'twere  goiii'  out," 
said  the  boatman. 

'•Jerusalem!  it  is  !"  said  the  pilot.  "Hus- 
tle up.     Here,  let  me  help." 

The  pilot  took  one  of  the  oars,  and  bending 
to  their  task,  the  two  men  sent  the  boat  llying 
through  the  water. 

"  Here's  another  sharp  one.''  said  tlu  pilot, 
as  thev  passed  a  raft  where  the  men  were  un- 
tying, and  getting  ready  to  start.  "  There's 
more  sharp  ones  than  usual  this  spring;  but 
we'll  heat  them  all  yet." 

■•  But  Where's  our  raft .'"  asked  Laurie,  as 
they  passed  the  place  where  it  had  been  left. 

"  We  dropped  it  down  below  here  last  night 
after  dark,"  said  the  pilot,  "  so  as  to  keep  it 
clear  of  the  others." 

They  found  the  hands  on  their  raft  all  ready 
to  start,  and  only  awaiting  their  arrival  to 
sho\e  oil". 

'•  Now  be  lively,  hoys,"  said  the  pilot. 
"There  are  several  rafts  up  above  us  that  are 
pulling  out.  and  each  thinks  he  is  first,  and 
that  the  others  are  fast  asleep." 

"  We're  all  ready,"  said  one  of  the  hands. 


94 


AMONG     THE     RAFTSMEN. 


The  cables  were  cast  off,  and  the  raft  once 
more  begari  to  move.  Tiiis  one  was  tlic  low- 
est, and  tlie  boatmen  had  no  trouble  in  steer- 
infj  clear  of  the  shore,  and  were  soon  in  the 
middle  of  the  current. 

"  There  come  the  others."  said  Sam,  asthev 
swunj;  out,  and  could  see  the  fires  on  the  rafts 
up  the  river. 

"  Half  of  them  will  be  pullinu  out  before 
daylight."  said  the  pilot.  "  so  as  to  be  first,  and 
have  it  to  braj;  of." 

*•  How  can  30U  tell  the  way  to  steer  here?" 
asked  I^aurie. 

"  I  tell  by  the  echoes  partly;  but  we  usually 
run  by  watching  the  mountain-tops.  We  can 
guess  our  position  by  them." 

The  boys  soon  went  into  the  shantv.  and  ly- 
ing down  upon  the  bundles  (-f  straw,  they  slept 
until  daylight.  Then  one  of  the  hands  came 
in,  and  began  to  prej'are  breakfast.  They  had 
none  of  the  culinary  articles  which  are  neicessa- 
ry  to  a  good  kitchen.  There  were  a  frying-pan, 
a  kettle.  acolVee-pot.  atul  a  tea-pot.  for  cooking. 
with  tin  plates  and  cups. 

"When  I  first  went  down  the  river,  we 
didn't  have  any  dishes  to  eat  from."  said  tiie 
cook,  who  was  known  by  the  nickname  of 
Brad  among  the  raftsmen,  "and  only  one  ket- 
tle to  do  our  cooking.  We  would  take  a  shin- 
gle for  a  plate,  and  t)ur  jackknives  for  forks 
or  table-knives.     But  we  had  splendid  times." 

"I  should  think  this  woidd  be  drv  li\ing 
by  the  time  we  reach  Cincinnati."  saitl  Laurie. 

"  You'll  be  hankering  after  something  else. 
I  guess,  before  we're  through  with  it,"  said 
Brad.  "  But  we'll  make  it  a  lillle  better  bv  a 
lark." 

"A  lark  — what's  that?"  asked  Sam.  "!).> 
you  have  larks  on  the  river.'  " 

"A  lark  is  when  we  take  a  little  walk  on 
shore,  to  rest  ourselves,  and  pick  up  atiy  stray 
chickens  or  turkeys  that  we  find  wandering 
around,  for  fear  they  may  lose  their  way,  and 
wander  olV  and  die." 

"  I  should  think  that  was  pretty  near  steal- 
ing," said  Clare. 

"  We  don't  call  it  so.  It  is  only  our  mark 
of  respect  for  the  inhabitants.  Why.  vou  see. 
they  cheat  us  if  we  buy  anything  of  them,  and 
we  take  their  I'owK  to  p.ay  lor  it." 

'■  But  don't  they  e\er  make  a  I'uss.'"  asked 
Laurie. 

"What's  the  use.'  They  know  that  they 
have  cheated  us,  and  they  expect  we  will  try 
to  be  even  with  them.  One  fellow  brought 
sonu'  eggs  on  board  to  sell  one  ilay.  as  we  were 
tied  up  near  his  place.  We  bought  them  ;  there 
was   nigh    about   twenty  dozeai ;   but  when  we 


come  to  cook  them,  there  wasn't  a  dozen  gc:od 
eggs  in  the  whole  lot.  We  pulled  out  that 
night,  and  took  about  half  of  his  hen-roost  vvitli 
us.  —  Breakfast's  ready.  Get  your  cups  and 
plates,  and  take  hold  and  help  yourselves." 

The  men  now  came  in  to  their  breakt'ast. 
with  the  exception  of  two  or  riirec  who  -leered 
the  raft.  Each  took  his  plate  of  v  jtuals  and 
cup  of  coffee  or  tea.  and  ate  his  breakfast 
wherever  he  found  it  most  convenient.  Tlu' 
boys  enjoyed  this  novel  way  of  eating,  and  did 
not  grumble  about  their  victuals,  althougli 
they  were  not  cooked  in  the  best  style,  and  the 
coffee  was  deciiiedlv  unsettled. 


y^ — ._-  ./ — 

The  hiivil  Ijti.uiiKin. 

For  miles  below  Warren  the  river  ran  be- 
tween high  mountains,  covered  with  wmuis 
and  bushes.  There  wa-  not  nnuh  of  iutere  t 
in  these,  save  once  when  the  boys  saw  two  deer 
running  around  a  spur  of  a  hill.  Finallv.  oil 
derricks  began  to  appear  upon  the  bank  of 
the  river,  where  old  oil  wells  had  been  drilled, 
which  were  now  dry.  Then  Tidioute.  with 
its  many  derricks  and  oil  tanks,  burst  upon 
their  view, 

"  It's  a  dirty-looking  hole,"  said  Clare,  as 
they  passed  the  \  illage. 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  had  been  drownded  in  oil 
some  day,  and  then  repeopled,"  said  Sam. 

"  That  is  the  general  look  of  the  oil  regions," 
said  the  pilot. 

At  dark  they  made  preparations  for  tying  up. 


AMONG     THE     RAFTSMEN. 


95 


One  end  of  the  caole  was  made  fast  to  the  raft, 
unit  tlio  other  put  into  a  boat  and  rowed  asliore. 
A  man  tlien  took  the  cable,  and  ran  along  the 
shore  until  became  to  a  convenient  tree,  around 
which  he  tjave  the  cable  two  or  three  turns, 
and  tlien  hold  to  the  end  of  it.  When  the  ca- 
ble was  straightened  so  that  it  began  to  slip, 
he  unwound  it,  and  ran  to  another  tree.  This 
was  repeated  several  times,  until  the  speed  of 
tlic  raft  was  slackened,  and  it  was  drawn  ashore, 
where  it  was  made  fast  hv  cables.  Several 
rafts  came  down  and  tied  by  the  side  of  them 
during  the  night.  The  boys  paid  them  a  visit, 
and  found,  to  their  surprise,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Norton  wore  upon  one  of  tliem.  The  cabin 
on  this  raft  was  furnished  far  better  than  their 
own,  and  was  nearly  as  comfortable  as  their 
kitchen  at  home. 


i^f}    --- 


The  next  morning  they  "lied  loose."  as  the 
raftsmen  sav,  and  were  on  their  wav  by  day- 
light. 

"We  had  better  slii-k  up  a  little  to-day," 
said  the  pilot.  '"  and  put  on  our  Sunday  neat- 
ness." 

"  Why  so?     'Tisn't  Sunday,"  said  Clare. 

"  I  expect  wc  shall  have  visitors  to-day," 
said  the  pilot. 

"  \'isitors  !  "  said  the  bovs;  "  whom  do  uui 
expect?" 

'•  Somebody  usually  gets  on  at  Oil  City  for 
a  pleasure  ride  down    the  Alleghany.     Some- 


times a  whole  family,  with  several  boys  and 
girls,  will  ride  with  us  ten  or  twelve  miles,  and 
then  come  back  on  the  cars." 

Oil  City  was  now  in  sight,  and  as  they  neared 
the  large  bridge  which  spans  the  river,  they 
saw  a  boat  pull  out  from  the  shore  loaded  with 
ladies  and  gentlemen. 

'•  There  are  our  visitors,  I  guess,"  said  the 
pilot. 

••  Halloo  I  "  shouted  somebody  from  the  boat ; 
'•will  you  take  some  passengers?" 

••Yes,"  shouted  the  pilot ;    '•  come  aboard." 

The  boys  saw  there  were  several  young  la- 
dies of  about  their  own  age  in  the  boat,  and 
hastened  into  the  cab'.i  to  make  themselves 
more  presentable. 

••  These  are  the  owners  of  the  raft."  said  the 
pilot,  as  the  hoys  came  towards  the  place  where 
he  was  talking  with  one  of  the  visitors. 

The  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Coates, 
was  somewhat  confused  as  the  pilot  introduced 
I  them,  and  looked  as  if  he  expected  some  kind 
I  of  a  joke. 

"  I  am  very  happy  tf)  mei?t  you.  young  gen- 
tlemen," said  he;  •■  but  i>n't  that  a  little  joke 
of  the  pilot's  about  your  owning  the  raft?" 

'•No.  sir,"  saitl  Laurie,  laughing;  "we  are 
owners  of  a  part  of  the  raft,  ami  the  remain- 
der is  under  our  command." 

"You  are  quite  young  for  hnnbormcn."  said 
the  gentleman  ;  "  but  you  seem  to  have  been 
lucky  so  far.  Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to 
your  other  visitors." 

These  were  a  lady,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Coates, 
his  son  of  sixteen,  and  his  two  ilaughters  of 
about  fourteen.  The  boys  blushed  very  deeply 
as  thev  were  introduced  to  the  hulies  as  own- 
ers of  the  raft,  and  especially  Laurie,  who  had 
been  struck  with  the  beauty  of  one  of  the  young 
ladies.  Laurie  appointed  himself  a  guide  '.o 
show  the  visitors  about  the  raft,  and  in  his  ex- 
planations soon  fouMil  himself  separateil  from 
the  others,  and  strolling  alioutwith  the  young 
ladv  who  had  so  much  attracted  him. 

Thev  were   now   approaching   the   I'ranklin 

Bridge.      Under  this  the  water  ran  with  great 

swiftness,  and   it  was   known   as   a  bad  place 

among  the  pilots.     The  pilot  had  not  been  as 

j  watchful  as  usual,  his  attenlinn  being  attracted 

I  bv  the  visitors,  and  tlie  rait  was  in  ilanger  of 

'  striking  against  the  |iier  as  they  neared  it,      I?y 

ipiick  pulling  the  forward  end  was  swungeleur 

I  of  the   pier,    but   they  were   not   so   successt'ul 

'  with  the  stern.     It  swung   around   and   struck 

tlic  -ide  against    tlie   pier.       Laurie  and  Miss 

Coates  were    standing   u|)on   the   edge  of  the 

rait  as  it  struck,  too  interested  to  notice  their 

danger.      So   i|uick   wa^    the   shock   that  they 


i  .; 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


96 

lo'.t  their  balance,  and,  in  spite  of  their  et- 
lorts,  were  tlirown  into  the  water.  Laurie 
grasped  her  as  thev  struck  the  water,  and  iiian- 
aijed  to  keep  both  lier  and  hinisell"  above  the 
surface.  Tlicir  crv  for  help  as  they  sank  had 
startled  the  men  on  the  raft,  and  already  two 
ropes  had  been  thrown  to  him.  One  of  these 
he  yra^ped,  and  was  speedily  drawn  on  board 
with  his  I'aintinji  burden. 

■•  .She  must  be  carried  ashore  immediately," 
.said  Mr.  Coates,  as  he  yrasped  his  daughter. 
'•  Here!  a   boat  —  (pii.kl" 

The  boat  of  the  rait  was  brought  to  the  side, 
and  two  of  the  raltsmen  enlereii  to  row  it. 

••  ICxcuse  mc,  Laurie."  said  Mr.  Coates,  as 
he  was  stepping  into  the  bo...  —  ••  excuse  me. 
I  lia.i  forgotten,  in  tlie  anxiety  of  the  moineiit. 
even  to  thank  you." 

'•  .\nd  I."  said  Mrs.  Coates,  extending  her 
liaiul.  "Accept  my  heartfelt  thanks  for  your 
noble  deed." 

"Why.  I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Laurie, 
Mushing  as  he  took  the  ]>roirereii  baml.  and 
not  knowing  what  else  to  say.  "  I  was  in.  and 
of  course  it  was  natural  to  save  her." 

'•  And  God  bless  you  for  it.  I  cannot  ex- 
press mv  gratitude  now,  but  you  shall  hear 
iVoni  nie  again.  Good  by.  good  by."  said  Mr. 
Coates,  as  the  boat  shoved  oil". 

'•  Highly  romantic,  very  well  pertbrmed.  and 
bliss  and  happiness  must  eventually  tbilow." 
said  .Sam,  as  Laurie  sat  in  the  cabin  drying 
his  clothes. 

'•There,  please  don't  say  any  more,"  said 
Laurie. 

••  !>ut  how  does  it  feel  to  be  in  such  a  place.' 
Did  you  think  you  was  a  hero,  and  saving 
your  liilure  wile,  as  they  lio  in  story  books?" 
persisted  Sam. 

'•  ().  shut  up."  said  [..aurie.  "  Here  comes 
a  lellow  to  sell  us  something.  I'll  go  and 
make  a  purchase." 

'•  Look  out.  or  the  young  rascal  will  cheat 
you."  said  the  pilot,  as  Clare  and  Sam  were 
bargaining  with  him. 

'•Here's  a  chicken;  he  can't  cheat  us  on 
that,"  said  Sam  ;   ••  and  th;'se  eggs,  too." 

••You'd  better  try  the  eggs,"  said  one  of  the 
hands. 

••  Vou  may  try  'em.''  said  the  seller. 

••Yes,  they're  gooil,"  said  Sim.  "We'll 
take  a  couple  do/en." 

The  boys  bought  their  provisions,  and  the 
boatman  was  |)ulliMg  olV.  when  one  of  the  men 
asked  him  if  he  had  any  whiskey. 

'•  Yes,"  said  he,  producing. a  bottle. 

The  raftsmen  drank  nearly  half  the  con- 
tent'-,  a:ul   llien   declared   it  was    not  lit   to  be 


paid  for,  and  t'>ld  the  boy  never  to  come  on 
board  again. 

••  But  1  want  my  pay,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Get  out,"  said  the  raftsmen  ;  and  he  started 
uway. 

When  several  boat's  lengths  from  the  raft, 
he  shouted,  — 

'■  I  guess  \ou  don't  make  much  bv  that  bar- 
gain, if  ^ou  did  get  the  whiskey.  Hetter  trv 
your  chicken  and  eggs  beiore  x-ou  cook  'em.' 

'■  That's  some  joke."  said  one  of  the  men  ; 
'•  let's  see  your  chicken." 

'•That  ain't  a  chicken,"  said  the  pilot,  as 
they  produced  theii' |Mncha-e.     '•  You're  beat." 

"What  is  ii.=  '"  asked  the  bovs. 


Mdls  on  tliti  Kuro|)eau  Plan. 

"  It  looks  more  like  an  owl  than  anything 
else,"  said  the  pilot,  •'and  that's  what  'tis. 
They've  picked  it  clean  as  a  chicken,  and  I 
don't  woiuier  you  were  fooled." 

The  boys  now  tried  their  eggs,  and  found 
oidv  one  good  in  the  two  dozen. 

••  Well,  that's  a  sell,  sure,"  said  they,  a  little 
discomfited  at  their  trade. 

"  ^Vell,  we're  about  even,"  said  Brad.  ''  He 
loi.t  his  whiskey,  and  you  your  money." 

They  tied  up  that  night  in  Miller's  Eddy,  and 
were  soon  surrounded  with  rafts.  These  were 
so  thick  that  the  bo-s  could  walk  on  them  for 
some  distance  up  and  down  the  river.  It 
looked  like  a  little  city  of  Irish  s'lanties  sud- 
denly spru'ig   up   on    the  water,  each  with   its 


t 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN, 


97 


little  tjarden  patch  around  it.  A  number  of 
the  ral't?>  liad  violins  on  boani,  and  the  sound 
of  tlie>e,  joined  witii  the  sonj,'s  of  tlie  men 
and  tlie  gay  hiugliter  of  the  dilVerent  parties, 
rang  over  the  water.  Tlie  boys  strolled  among 
the  rafts  for  some  time,  enjoying  the  romantie 
>cenes,  and  the  wild  songs  and  dances,  wliich 
weri!  joined  in  by  the  whole  crew.  The  In- 
dians, of  whom  a  large  number  weie  among 
the  rafts,  added  to  the  sport  by  their  dances, 
many  of  which  have  desceiuL-d  from  their  old 
war  (lances,  and  are  now  only  seen  in  this 
peaceful  form. 

The  boys  had  hardly  fallen  asleep  that  night 
when  they  w-re  awakencii  by  the  shouts  of  men 
and  the  snappingof  cables.  They  rushed  out, 
and  saw  that  the  rafts  near  them  were  in  mo- 
tion, and  drifting  down  the  river.  The  men 
were  \elling.  pilots  shouting  oriiers,  anil  the 
whole  scene  was  tlie  wildest  confusion.     Their 


"  You're  beat." 


own  raft  was  between  several  others,  and  was 
borne  by  them  out  into  the  river. 

"  What  does  aM  this  mean.'"  asked  the  boys 
all  at  once. 

"  We've  been  broken  loose  by  a  timber  raft." 
said  the  pilot,  who  was  putting  forth  all  his 
eflbrts  to  extricate  the  raft. 

The  boys  could  see  a  large  raft,  built  of  heavy 
timbers,  among  the  others,  which  was  not  there 
before,  and  this  seemed  to  be  crowding  its  w.ay 
through  to  the  shore,  breaking  loose  the  other 
rafts,  and  crowding  them  aside.    The  men  were 


pushing  the  rafts  apart,  and  throwing  off  ca- 
bles fastened  to  their  own.  Several  of  the 
rafts  went  ashore,  or  were  stove  upon  the  rocks 
with  wliich  the  eddy  abounded.  By  skilful 
management  the  boys'  raft  was  got  clear  of 
the  others,  and  they  started  out  into  the  dark- 
ness down  the  river. 

••  Aren't  you  going  to  land.'"  asked  Sam. 
•■  No,  I  dare  not  try  it;  it  would  be  too  dan- 
gerous," said  the  pilot. 

••  Where  did  that  raft  come  from  that  broke 
us  loose.'"  asked  Laurie. 

••From  up  the  Alleghany.  It  is  built  of 
solid  timbers,  and  is  heavier  than  ours.  I've 
seen  'em  do  the  same  thing  before  —  run  into 
a  lot  of  rafts  to  stop  themselves,  and  break  'em 
loose.  It's  mighty  dangerous  running  in  the 
night,  and  we  may  expect  to  stave  any  min- 
ute;  but  may  be  we'll  be  lucky  enough  to  get 
through." 

The  men  stood  at  their  oars'  all  night,  onlv 
now  anil  then  catching  a  nap  in  the  intervals 
of  pulling.  Several  times  they  were  on  the 
point  of  staving  on  a  rock  which  could  not  be 
seen  in  the  darkness,  and  they  did  not  escajie 
without  several  bard  bumps. 

When  the  boys  awoke  in  the  morning,  they 
saw  the  river  had  widened,  and  that  the  bank 
was  lined  with  cultivated  fields  and  white  cot- 
tages. Far  down  the  river  they  saw  a  lieavv 
cloud  of  smoke  rising,  and  s|)reading  out  like 
a  pall.     The  boys  asked  the  pilot  what  it  was. 

•"It's  the  smoke  in  I'ittsburg.  That's  the 
blackest  city  in  the  United  States.  They  have 
so  many  furnaces  and  iron  works  that  they  keep 
a  perfect  cloud  of  smoke  over  the  city,  and  fill 
the  air  with  coal  dust." 

Soon  the  piers  of  the  bridges  were  in  sight, 
seeming  a  perfect  network,  through  which  the 
boys  thought  it  impossible  to  run.  Hut  the 
pilot  understood  the  current,  and  they  were 
soon  through  the  bridges.  The  raft  ran  six 
or  seven  miles  below  the  city  before  it  found  a 
place  to  tie  up,  so  tbic!.  were  the  rafts. 

The  raftsmen  went  to  sleep,  and  the  boys 
went  up  to  I'ittsburg.  by  a  steamboat,  where 
Laurie  found  a  letter  for  liim,  winch  he  very 
carefully  kept  from  the  boys.  But  they  said 
it  was  postmarked  Franklin,  and  they  believed 
it  was  in  a  feminine  handwriting. 


I 


I 


^B 


s» 


AMONG    THE     RAFTSMEN. 


I    i 
i    . 


■   , 


'I'm;    I'LKSLiT 


AMONG  THE  KAITSMEN. 


BY    Fl»  \NK    H.    TAYLOR. 


VI. -FC 


JO  —  CONCLUSION. 


AT  Pittsburg  the  rafts  were  again  coupled, 
two  of  tlie  Alleglieny  pieces  making  one 
on  the  Oiiio.  Tlie  boys,  liowever,  did  not 
couple  their  raft.  They  had  concluded  to  run 
it  single,  as  it  was  as  safe,  and  there  were 
none  of  Mr.  Norton's  to  which  they  could 
couple  it.  New  Iiands  were  hired  to  take  the 
place  (if  tliosc  who  were  to  return  for  another 
trip,  fresh  provisions  were  put  on  board,  and 
the  next  morning  the  boys  pulled  out. 

On  the  broad  Ohio  the  ir.en  found  it  casv 
work  to  run  the  raft,  and  reclined  lazilv  at 
the  oars.  The  boys  either  lay  upon  the  boarils 
in  the  warm  sunshine,  or  strolled  about  the 
raft,  watching  the  passing  steamboats. 

''What  would  happen  if  we  should  run  into 
one  of  those  steamboats?"  said  Laurie. 

■•We  should  have  to  help  the  passengers 
out  of  the  water,  I'm  thinking,"  said  the 
pilot. 

"I  should  think  they  would  be  more  apt  to 
help  us  out,"  said  Sam. 

"  O,  no !  They  are  very  careful  to  keep  out 
of  our  way.     If  a  raft,  or  flat-boat,  as  they 


call  it,  should  strike  one  of  those  steamers,  it 
would  crush  in  its  side  as  if  'twas  a.  scow. 
You'll  find  that  everything  on  the  river  keeps 
out  of  the  way  of  a  raft." 

The  boys  found  that  river  life  grew  monot- 
onous upon  the  Ohio,  as  they  floated  idly 
along  each  day.  There  was  none  of  the 
dangers  and  sudilen  mishaps  which  thcv  had 
met  on  the  Allegheny,  hut  pleasant  weather 
and  only  a  little  work.  The  men  grew  irrita- 
ble, and  wished  for  something  to  turn  u]>,  no 
matter  wiiat  it  was  ;  even  a  smash-up  would  be 
preferable  to  this  listlessness ;  anything  that 
would  cause  a  disturbance  and  make  a  little 
excitement. 

'•This  is  fearful  dull."  said  the  man  who 
was  nicknamed  I5rad,  as  they  tieil  up  one 
night.  They  rarely  tied  up  at  night;  but  as 
it  was  more  dangerous  than  usual  below  them 
that  night,  they  had  concluded  not  to  run.  "I 
wish  something  might  happen,"  continued 
r>rad  ;   "  even  a  fight  would  be  a  luxury." 

"  Well,  s'pose'n  we  stir  up  something,"  saic' 
his  mate  at  the  oar. 

•'  What  do  vou  sav  to  a  raid  to-ii  lit.'"  said 
Brad. 

"Good!  be  a  jolly  night  for  it.  Darker'n 
pitch,  and  the  wind  blowing  loud  enough  to 
drown  all  noises." 


AMONG    THE    RAFTSMEN 


99 


iteaniers,  it 
IS  :i.  m;o\v. 
ivci"  kuops 

w  iiiotiot- 

;iteil    icily 

tie   of    tlie 

tlu'v  had 

t  wtatlior 

L'w  inita- 

rii  11)),  no 

won  ill  be 

thing  tliat 

■kc  a  little 

man  who 

li     up     Oll'J 

It;  but  as 
clow  th(jni 
;o  run.    '■  I 

continued 
;urv." 


line 


k:iu1 


;ht?"  said 

Darker'n 
enough  to 


i 


"What's   a  raid?"  risked   Sam,  who,   with  I 
the  other  boys,  was  sittint;  by  tliem. 

"It's  what  I  explained  to  you  once  as  a 
lark."  said  IJrad;  "a  little  walk  on  sliori.' 
after  eatables,  you  know.  We  call  it  by  any 
name  that  happens  to  come  easy.  They  call 
us  raiders,  ami  so  we  say,  when  .ijoin;;  out. 
that  it  is  a  raid." 

••  S'pose  we  _<;o  to-iiit;ht."  said  the  other 
raftsmen. 

".Ml  rii,'ht.  Don't  let  none  of  the  other 
men  know  it.  and  we'll  diif  out  about  mid- 
nii;lit.  Mow  would  you  boys  like  to  go.'" 
said  lirad,  turniui;  to  them. 

"  I'll  S"'"  ''■'''1  •*'am.  who  was  ready  for  anv- 
thinij. 

■•  I'll  see  what  the  pilot  sa^s."  said  Laurie. 
"  If  he  thinks  it's  all  n-ht.  I'l'l  -o." 

"Tell  him  not  to  let  it  out  to  the  other 
men."  said  Hrad,  as  the  boys  started  to  speak 
to  the  pilot. 

"Yes,  go  on,"  sai<l  the  pilot,  when  the  boys 
told  him  of  the  lark.  "You  won't  come  to 
any  harm,  that's  sure;  for  the  men  ilim't  go 
Olf  lor  any  bad  purpose.  It's  more  for  excite- 
ment than  anything  else,  and  it'll  do  you 
gootl  to  have  a  tratnp." 

'•  I  guess  I  won't  go,"  said  Clare,  who  didn't 
relish  the  long  walk.  "I'll  stay  here,  and 
help  eat  the  chickens  ^-ou  get." 

The  be  s  teased  Clare  to  go;  but  he  refused, 
and  they  finally  started  off  without  liim.  The 
party  consisted  of  IJrad,  and  his  chum,  and 
the  two  boys.  Each  carried  a  grub  as  a 
weapon  of  defence  against  any  dog  that  might 
beset  them.  The  night  was  so  dark  that  they 
could  not  distinguish  objects  a  rod  ahead  of 
them.  They  struck  off  directly  across  the 
lots,  climbing  fences,  tmnblmg  into  ditches, 
and  running  into  swamps.  It  seemed  to  the 
boys  as  if  they  ran  into  every  mud-hole  that 
could  be  found  on  their  journey'.  After  walk'- 
ing  about  an  hour,  they  stoiijjed  to  rest,  sit- 
tmg  down  on  a  log. 

"I'm  pretty  tired,"  saiil  Sam,  "and  my  feet 
are  dri|)ping  wet.  I  went  over  boots  into  a 
ditch,  and  tilled  them  with  mud  and  water." 

"And  I've  torn  my  trousers,"  said  Laurie, 
"and  bumped  my  knee,  lost  my  hat  a  couple 
of  times,  and  found  it  once  down  in  the  nuid. 
where  I'd  stepped  on  it,  and  almost  pushed  it 
out  of  sight." 

"  O,  you'll  get  over  all  that  in  five  minutes," 
said  Brad.  '•  We'll  rest  a  while,  and  then 
make  a  roundabout  way  back  to  the  raft,  and 
I  guess  we'll  light  on  some  farm-yard." 

They  soon  started  back  on  a  different  course, 
and  had  accomplished  about  one  half  the  dis- 


tance, when  Sam  suddenly  stopped,  and  saidi 
"  Hark:  I  thought  I  heard  a  sheep  bleat." 

Tliey  listened,  and  soon  the  sound  was  re- 
peated. 

••  Yes,  here  we  are  right  close  to  a  barn- 
yard." said  ISrad.  "  Now  be  cautious,  and 
keep  together." 

They  walked  carefull}'  towarils  the  barns, 
which  coulil  now  be  seen  ahead  of  them,  and 
finding  the  gate,  they  were  soon  inside  the 
barn-yard. 

"Now  we  must  find  the  hen-roost,"  said 
Brad,  "and  then  each  man  load  himself 
Don't  make  much  noise." 


'*  Now  run,  boys." 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Sain,  as  he  thrust  his 
stick  into  a  small  house  by  the  side  of  the 
barn,  and  i^n  unmistakable  cackle  came  from 
the  inside. 

"There  are  turkeys  here,  also,"  said  Brad, 
as  he  and  the  boys  clambered  inside,  leaving 
the  other  men  outside  to  watch.  Brad  had 
only  caught  the  fir-t  turkey,  when  the  sentinel 
thrust  his  heail  in  at  the  door,  aiui  whisjiered, 
"C'^arout,  Brad;  here  comes  some  ine !  " 

"Grab  a  chicken,  boys,"  said  Brad,  "we'll 
have  something  to  show  for  our  tramp  " 

The  boys  each  grabbed  a  chicken,  and 
sprang  out  of  the  house. 

"Now  run,  boys,"  said  Brad;  "keep  close 
to  our  heels  I  " 

"Thieves!     thieves!      Bring     the    dogs:  ' 


lOO 


AMONG     THE     RATTSMEN. 


■ 


Rhoiitcd  some  one  boliiiul  IliL-rn;  and  then 
came  the   sminci  of  iiursiiin;;  tbotslciis. 

"  K:i-jo\v  !  ka-yow!"  jfllcil  the  cliickcns, 
wliich  the  hoys  were  ilragginj^  alorii^hv  onelci;. 

"Confound  those  chickens."  said  Brad; 
"  wrinjf  their  necks  !  " 

15iit  the  bovs  were  too  scared,  aiui  the  sound 
of  footsteps  too  near,  to  allow  them  to  stop  to 
do  tliat;  so  tlie  cliickcns  yelled  en,  the  boys 
dragging  them  along  iiead  downwards. 

"  Let  those  chickens  drop  !  "  shouted  Brad  ; 
"they'll  follow  us  as  long  as  they  can  hear 
those  vclh  ! " 


'  "  Thieves  !    thieves  I 

Sam  dropped  his  load ;  but  before  Laurie 
could  obey,  an  unseen  accident  happened. 
There  was  a  dry,  open  ditch  in  their  course, 
and  into  this  Laurie  fell,  smothering  the  last 
note  of  the  chicken  under  him.  The  others 
fell  partly  into  the  ditch,  but  quickly  clam- 
bered out,  and  hastened  on  without  missing 
Laurie.  He  was  stunned  by  the  fall,  and  lay 
a  few  moments  without  moving.  When  he 
came  to  his  senses,  he  heard  voices  close  to 
him,  and  the  yells  of  men.  lie  concluded 
they  were  the  voices  of  his  pursuers,  and  lay 
still  until  they  had  passed.  He  then  rose  up, 
and  looked  around.  He  was  alone,  in  a 
strange  place,  with  men  hunting  after  him, 
and  not  knowing  which  way  to  go.  He  finally 
concluded  to  follow  on  in  the  direction  the 
others  had  gone. 


Just  then  the  chicken  gave  a  reviving  squall, 
'•Halloo!  you  .ilive  yet.'"  said  Laiirie.  "I 
guess  I'll  take  you  along  with  me,  since  I  have 
had  so  much  trouble  in  getting  you."  Ik- 
tucked  the  chicken's  head  uiuler  his  coat  tf) 
keep  it  still,  and  trudged  on  in  the  direction 
the  others  had  gone.  1  lis  head  ached  where 
he  had  bumped  it  as  he  fell  into  the  ditch,  his 
leet  were  sore  from  the  long  tramji,  his  legs 
ached  where  he  had  struck  them  against  logs, 
and  his  clothes  were  torn  and  niuddv. 

"  I've  had  enough  of  going  larking,"  said 
he,  as  he  slowly  plodded  along.  "It  looks  a 
little  too  much  like  stealing,  and  a  fellow  don't 
get  enough  to  pay  him  for  hi>  l>ruise>.  I'll 
bet  you  don't  catch  nie  in  another  such  scrape 
right  otV." 

Laurie  soon  heard  the  pursuers  returning, 
ami  hid  himself  behind  a  fence.  He  heard 
enough  of  their  conversation,  as  they  passed, 
to  learn  that  they  had  not  caught  any  of  the 
party.  After  they  had  passed,  Laurie  came 
out  o(  his  hiding-phue.  ami  trudged  on  again, 
j  stumbling  through  the  darkness,  and  wishing 
he  was  safe  on  the  raft. 

"  Halloo  !  "  suildenly  shouted  some  one  close 
beside  him. 

"  Halloo,  yourself!  "  shouted  Laurie  in  re- 
turn. 

"  Is  that  you.  Laurie .' "  said  the  voice,  which 
he  now  recognized  as  belonging  to  Ham. 

"Yes;  how  came  you  iiere,  Sam?  Where 
is  the  rest  of  the  party.'" 

"They've  gone  on  to  the  raft.  I  got  so 
'.ired,  I  couldn't  run  any  longer,  and  Brad  told 
me  to  crawl  into  these  bushes,  and  stay  around 
here  until  morning,  when  they  would  come 
back.  I  saw  those  fellows  who  were  after  us. 
They  came  down  here,  and  turned  around,  and 
went  back." 

'•  When  did  you  miss  me.'" 

"About  half  a  mile  back.  We  reckoned 
you  had  hid  somewhere  to  rest,  ami  then  when 
I  heard  you  coming  along  '.alking  to  vi  ursclf, 
I  knew  it  was  you,  and  so  I  haileil." 

"We  can't  find  the  raft  to-night;  so  we  had 
better  find  a  place  to  sleep,  and  stay  here  until 
morning." 

"We  passed  an  old  barn  a  few  rods  back. 
We'd  better  go  there  and  find  a  sleeping- 
jilace." 

The  boys  soon  found  the  barn,  and  crawled 
inside  through  a  window. 

"  Here's  hay,"  said  Sam  ;  "  we  can  have  as 
good  a  sleeping-place  here  as  we  could  on  our 
bunks  of  straw." 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  this  chicken  to  keep 
it  safe  until  morning.'"' 


I 


* 

A 


AM()N(;      Tin:     KAFTSMKN. 


loi 


i 


"LctitKo;  we've  Iiiid  tr()ul)lo  fH()iiL,'h  wMi 
chickens." 

Liiurio  threw  tlie  cliiiken  out  ot'tlio  wiiuiow. 
The  hoys  then  hurrowed  into  the  liiiv,  and 
were  soon  fast  asleep.  Tliev  awoke  tlie  next 
mornin;^  at  <iavlii;lit,  tlieir  hriiises  sore,  and 
themselves  still'  witli  wounds.  Laurie's  head 
still  ached,  ami  their  elothes  presented  a  sorrv 
siirlil 

••  I  feel  about  fifty  years  old,"  said  Laurie, 
as  he  crawled  out  of  the  hav. 

•■Ami  I  feel  u'li^h  a  hundred,"  said  Sam, 
goin:,'  to  the  window  to  sec  their  whereabouts. 
"  Halloo,  Laurie!  I  can  see  the  river.  It  isn't 
more  than  half  a  mile  away." 

The  boys  immediately  started  for  the  river, 
and,  after  half  an  hour's  walk,  n^ached  the 
raft.  They  four  i  ihe  men  astir,  and  lirad 
■was  starting;  in  search  of  them. 

"Where  are  your  chickens.'"  said  Clare,  as 
the  hoys  entered  lliu  shantv. 

"Never  you  mind,"  said  Sam;  "they're 
where  you  won't  eat  them." 

The  hoys  spc-nt  the  remainder  of  the  dav  in 
nursin;.;  their  wounds  and  bruises.  This  lark 
quite  cifectually  broke  up  all  thoughts  of  lark- 
ing. Only  one  other  attempt  was  made,  ami 
the  ovit,rinator  of  that  came  to  j,'rief  in  quite 
an   unexpected  manner. 

'I  he  raft  hail  been  tied  uji  about  an  hour  be- 
fore dayliifht,  to  give  the  iiands  a  chance  to 
rest.  A  farm-house  stood  upon  the  bank  not 
more  than  a  hundred  rods  from  the  ral"t,  and 
Pheelin  said  he  could  get  some  chickens  from 
there,  ami  get  back  again  before  daylight. 

He  found  the  hen-house,  but  eould  find  no 
entrance,  except  a  small  wiiuiow,  through 
which  he  could  hardly  squeeze  his  bodv. 
Nothing  daunted,  Phc.^Iin  tried  the  window, 
and  squeezed  half  of  his  body  through,  when 
he  began  to  reach  around  in  search  of  tne 
chickens.  His  legs  outside  were  kiekiirg 
aroun.:  in  the  air,  and  they  soon  drew  the  at" 
tention  of  a  buck,  which  was  confined  in  the 
yard.  He  took  their  evolutions  as  a  sign  of 
battle,  and,  backing  up,  he  charged,  striking 
Pheelin  m  the  rear,  and  causing  him  to  disap- 
pear through  the  window  with  uncommon 
quickness. 

"  What  ■was  that.'  Shoo,  there  ;  now  don't 
hit  me  agin.  Who  is  the  man  that  dare  strike 
a  defenceless  man  unawares.'"  shoutetl  Pheelin 
out  of  the  hen-house.  ISut  there  was  no  an- 
swer. He  cautiously  stuck  his  head  out  of 
the  window,  and.  looking  around,  he  saw  the 
sheep.  "And  was  it  you.  you  dirty  bl.ackguard, 
that  hit  me?  But  Pd  like  to  give  you  a  hit  wid 
me  shillelah.     What,  hain't  you  going  to  let 


me  out.'  Shoo,  now,  don't  be  foolin',"  said 
Pheelin,  as,  attempting  to  climb  out,  he  saw 
the  sheep  make  unmistakable  signs  of  another 
charge.  Pheelin  was  now  in  a  fix.  Every 
attempt  to  scare  Ihe  sheep  away  was  iinavail 
iiig.  and  whenever  he  attempted  to  escape  hv 
the  wiiulow,  the  sheej)  commenced  hostile  mo- 
tions. It  was  nearly  daylight,  and  the  farmer 
would  soon  be  out  to  attend  his  chores.  Phee 
lin  w:.s  getting  "  unaisy,"  when  a  happy 
thought  struck  him.  He  saw  that  the  yard 
fence  only  came  to  the  corner  of  the  hen- 
house ;  so,  should  he  knock  olf  a  board  on  this 
side,  he  could  crawl  out,  and  he  outsiile  of  the 
yard.  After  a  dint  of  hard  kicks,  a  board  was 
knocked  off,  and  Pheelin  ingloriouslv  retreated 
through  the  hole,  and  started  on  a  run  to  the 
raft  without  his  chickens. 


"Is  that  you,  Laurie?" 

When  the  raft  came  to  Marietta,  a  number 
of  gentlemen  came  on  board  of  it  with  Mr. 
Norton,  ainong  whom  was  Mr.  Arlington, 
whose  shingles  they  were  running.  Mr.  Nor- 
ton had  gone  on  ahead  of  the  rafts  to  sell  the 
lumber. 

"Here  is  a  purchaser  for  your  lumber, 
boys,"  said  Mr.  Norton. 

"  I3ut  I  thought  we  were  to  nri  it  to  Cincin- 
nati," said  the  boys. 

"You  can  get  as  much  for  it  hrre  as  to  run 
it  farther,  and  many  of  the  raits  stop  here." 

"  1  have  sold   my  shingles  here,  boys,"  said 


I03 


AMONG    THE    RAFTSMEN. 


Mr.  Arlington,  "so  lliat  voii  nefil  not  keep 
your  lumber  l)!»ck  on  niv  aciKunt." 

"How  much  have  von  holil  vour  luml)i;r 
for?"  asked  the  bovs.  a-.iJe,  of  Mr.  Norton. 

"Twentv-eiijht  dollars  a  thousand,  and  live 
dollars  for  shingles." 

'•Do  vou  \vi>li  to  sell  your  lumber?"  asked 
one  of  the  tjentlemen,  as  the  boys  walked  to- 
wards them. 

"  Ves,  sir,"  said  Laurie. 

"What  IS  your  price.'" 

"  We  ask  twenty-eiijlit  dollars  a  thousand." 

"You  are  rather  liiijh,  1  Tear." 

"No,  sir;  I  think  that  is  the  usual  price." 

"I  will  give  you  twenty-seven  and  a  half." 

"No,  sir;  we  have  no  lumber  to  sell  at  that 
price,"  replied  Laurie,  firmly. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  quarter  more." 

"No  use;  our  price  is  twenty-eight  dollars." 

"  You  can't  beat  them  down,"  said  one  t)f 
the  gentlemen,  who  was  pleased  with  Laurie's 
firm  answers. 


when  they  found  that  each  had  the  sum  of 
one  hundred  anil  eighty  dollars.  This  was  an 
enorinous  sum  in  the  eyes  of  boys  fourteen 
\ears  old,  and  they  had  the  pleasure  of  know- 
ing that  they  had  earned  it  by  their  own 
ell'orts. 

The  boys,  having  finished  their  business  in 
the  lumber  trade,  starteil  for  home,  Clare  and 
1-aurie  returning  home  with  .Sam.  Alter  stay- 
ing here  a  few  days,  they  returned  to  their 
own  home,  where  their  parents  hardly  knew 
the  two  brown  boys  as  the  same  that  had  left 
them  in  the  winter. 

The  boys  invested  their  money  where  it  is 
constantly  increasing,  and  they  talk  of  return- 
ing to  the  lumber  trade  in  the  spring.  Clare 
s.nys  Laurie  has  a  correspondent  in  the  Oil 
Regions,  and  Laurie  does  not  deny  it.  .Should 
the  boys  enter  into  another  speculation,  you 
may,  perlK\p>,  hear  from  our  young  raltsmen 
again. 


.1 


i'liLxhii  uneasy 


The  bargain  was  finally  made,  ami  tne  money 
paiil. 

Mr.  Norton  had  sold  the  other  part  of  the 
raft;  so  the  hands  all  landed,  and  made  prepa- 
rations to  return   home. 

The  money  had  been  paid  to  the  boys,  who 
hardly  knew  what  to  tlo  with  so  much.  They 
paid  Mr.  Norton  his  lialf.  paid  off  their  men, 
and  divided  the  remainder  anong  themselves. 


the  Mim  of 
['Ins  was  an 
_vs  fourteen 
re  of  know- 
tlicir  own 

business  in 
-•,  Clare  and 

Alter  stav- 
ned  to  their 
lardly  knew 
lat  had  left 

V  wliere  it  is 
!k  of  return- 
ring.  Clare 
in  the  Oil 
■  it.  Should 
ulatioii.  vou 
li"   raftsmen 


0 

Wir-    -^ 

-<';■??• 

L"^^ 

;«.  * ;. 

-  ''-n 

^!^« 

v'"^ 

i' 1 

i'  ■  • 

im^\ 

j 


) 

1 


'•:   CAMP   IN   THE   ouLcn. 


'^? 


'Tlii:  ri.ttta  shot  forward,  and  settled  on  tliu  aiiim.il'9  hums 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  GULCH. 

I  —THE  MARCH  -THE  CAMP. -THE 
LECTURE-COUKSE. 

IIV    H  STIN    DALE. 

ARIZONA,  as  a  word,  has  hecome  almost 
synonymous  with  ilisri/.  In  .speakiwt; 
of  a  barren  lanil,  if  we  sIidiiUI  sav  it  was  an 
Arizona.,  there  eoulcl  hardly  be  a  nioie  aecu- 
rate  idea  of  a  desert,  whicli  was  not  ahsohitcly 
a  desert,  ion\eyetl.  For.  with  its  tantjleil 
maze  of  almost  unfatliomable  chasms  ami 
gorges,  so  little  penetrated  by  civilized  mrjn  ; 
its  endless  lines  of  massive  clifl's ;  its  diaboli- 
cal natives;  iis  desolate  wastes  of  sand  and 
rocks,  combined  with  its  hurninij  sun  and 
great  scarcity  of  water,  —  Arizona  is,  truly,  not 
a  realm  where  the  tourist  would  spend  his 
leisure  moments,  nor  the  farmer  build  his 
humble  cabin.  Hence  we  find  that  hitherto 
it  has  presented  few  attractions  to  any  hut  the 
inquisitive  explorer  or  tlie  eaijer  prospector. 

It  was  my  good  luck,  at  a  certain  period,  to 
stumble  through  portions  of  these  very  wilds, 
connected  with  a  band  of  the  former  class  of 
those  itinerant  spirits  who  first  break  path- 
ways into  the  unknown  regions  of  our  globe, 
who  prepare  the  way  for  the  subsequent  intro- 
duction of  civilization.     We  were  not  exactly, 


I  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  breaking  a 
pathway,  as  we  followed  a  trail  that  had  al- 
ready been  tra\elleil  a  number  of  times  by  uuf 
frontier   friends,    the   Mormons,  on   their  way 

I  to  and  from  the  seven  ancient  cities. 

!  Neither  was  the  sun,  this  autumn  d.ay,  very 
familiar.  Indiid.  he  was  so  distant  in  his 
manners,  wiilulrawing  liehind  the  fleeting 
clouds  so  frequently,  that  we  really  would  have 
thought  the  stories  of  his  great  power  in  this 
section  unfounded,  had  we  not,  at  an  earlier 
day,  had  sutVicient  proof  of  his  strength. 

In  consetpienee  of  his  reticent  mood,  you 
arc  satisfied,  when  you  catch  your  first  view 
of  our  little  train,  that  none  of  its  members 
are  sulTering  with  the  noonday  heat.  To  speak 
more  plainly,  the  day  was  chill  and  disagree- 
able, file  time  wc  were  making  would  not 
have  been  envied  by  a  !"*exter  nor  by  a  Gold- 
smith Maid,  as  our  pack  animals,  being  laden 
rather  heavilv.  were  more  disposed  to  wander 
from  the  trail,  and,  with  a  half-famished  air. 
snatch  up  the  bunch-grass  tliat  giew  in  abun- 
dance alongside,  than  to  make  any  e.\traordi- 
nary  exertions  to  get  over  the  ground.  Prob- 
ably tliey  felt  that  a  distention  of  the  stomach 
was  more  agreeable  to  travel  on  than  the 
vague  feeling  of  nothingness  which  must  be 
produced  by  the  continual  aggravation  of  a 
heavy  pack  and  a  tight  siiic/ie.     We  could   not 


•i* 


t 


■ 


"  r 


104 


THE     CAMP     IN    TIIL     GULCH. 


blaiiie  them  for  stealinjf  .1  mouthful  of  the 
sweet  grass  now  and  then;  but,  not  having 
hpd  anytliing  ourselves  to  eat  since  earlv  morn- 
ing, we  were  anxious  to  arrive  'ir-  quickly  as 
possible  It  the  anticipated  House  Rock  Gulcii, 
where  we  were  to  find  plenty  of  wholesome 
water,  and  an  abundance  of  fuel  with  which  to 
prepare  our  evening  meal. 

To  aliow.  therefore,  the  jaded  brutes  to 
pick  along  at  their  leisure,  was  not  the  w.iy  to 
end  our  day's  journey  and  fill  our  empty  stom- 
achs; so,  in  true  western  style,  we  held  forth 
an  occ.-sional  exhortation  to  the  wayward, 
accompanied  by  a  whack  from  a  good  stout 
stick;  and  the  train  was  kept  moving  at  about 
a  three-mile  {-ait,  while  some  camp-kettles 
whicli  had  been  too  loosely  tied  to  "  old 
Dick's  "  pitck,  kept  up  a  clang-clang,  clang- 
ciang,  with  si.ch  a  precise  regularity,  that  it 
must  have  astonished  the  old  white  plug  him- 
self, even  though  he  had  pranced  over  moun- 
tain and  valley,  in  his  pre>ent  capacity,  .'iince 
he  was  introduced  from  Spain  by  Escalante. 


Loading  the  .inimals. 

Silen"e  reigned  supreme,  only,  once  in  a 
grea'  while,  when  the  train  was  halted  to  al- 
low a  pack  to  be  tixed."  This  readjustment 
sometimes — yes,  generall\ — was  the  entire 
repacking  of  the  animal:  and,  in  order  that 
you  may  understand  how  this  packing  is  done, 
in  regions  where  it  is  the  only  w.iy  of  freight- 
ing pr  xticable.  I  will  devote  a  few  words  to 
teach  you. 

In  the  first  place,  of  course,  we  must  have 
the  animal  (not  always  necessarily  a  quadru- 
ped, but  sometimesan  aboriginal  biped,  though 
the  load  is  differently  applied  to  these  latter), 
be  it  horse  or  mule,  and,  if  your  "  citvoose"  is 
a  "  broncho "  (wild,  unbroken),  the  utmost 
care  must  be  exercised  to  keep  bevond  the 
reach  of  his  fantastic  movements. 

Several   times  on  this  day  had  a  broncho 


tossed  a  couple  of  packers  r.ither  roughly 
amonj'  the  sage-brush;  but  each  time  they 
had  recovered  themselves  immediately,  and 
returned  to  their  work. 

Having  selected  your  pack-animal,  you  want ' 
a  pack-saddle.  (See  illustration.)  This  gener- 
ally has  a  breeching  to  it.  and  sometimes  a 
breast-strap,  to  prevent  the  slippingof  the  [lack 
on  heavy  grades.  I...'  '-is  a.9/«c//(;  (illustr.i- 
tion),  made  of  hair  or  canvas,  which  is  att^.ched 
to  the  saddle  by  adjuttable  straps,  that  com- 
pletes the  circuit  of  the  horse,  and  holds  the 
saddle  firmly  in  its  place. 

On  the  back  of  the  animal  is  put  a  blanket, 
and  on  this  the  saddle  is  placed,  almost  in  the 
middle  of  the  back.  If  you  are  acquainted 
with  saddling  a  horse  in  the  "  .States,"  vou 
know  that  the  saddle  is  placed  high  up  on  the 
withers,  and  tlie  girth  drawn  close  to  the  fore- 
legs—  the  English  style;  hiird  on  the  horse, 
and  hard  on  the  rider,  on  successive  long  days' 
joui.ieys.  "Out  west."  however,  as  I  have 
said,  the  saddle  is  put  fairl_\  (jn  the  hack,  and 
the  fhichc  —  not  girth  —  drawn  over  the  middle 
of  the  belly.  Thus,  as  long  as.  the  sinche  is 
kept  tight,  the  danger  of  galling  the  back  by 
long  rides,  or  heavy  packs,  is  almost  wholly 
avoided. 

AVhen  your  piuk-saddle,  then,  is  in  its  piop- 

I  cr  positif)n.  you  must   draw  the  sinche   up  so 

tight  thr.r,   were   it   done    in  New  York,    Mr. 

iifrgli  won'''  I  e  instanti)'  after  you.  with  the 

I  wl  ole    outfit  of  T.  S.  F.  T.   P.   O.    C.  T.   A. 

I  Til's    tight   sinching  is  absolutely  necessary, 

I  for.  tiiough  a  little  cruel,  upon  it  depends  the 

preservation  of  your  horse's  back. 

Upon  the  saddle  the  pack  is  hung  in  various 
ways  by  various  persons,  and  over  it  is  thrown 
a  blanket  or  a  piece  of  canvas.  Then  the 
"  lash-rope  "  —  at  one  end  of  which  is  a  sinche 
similar  to  the  one  on  the  saddle,  but  supplied 
with  a  large  wooden  hook — is  applied.  This 
is  done  in  a  number  of  ways,  but  the  one  gen- 
erally adopted  is  that  known  as  the  '•  miner's 
diamond."  or  "diamond  hitch,"  receiving  its 
name  from  the  fact  that  when  the  lashing  is 
ron  ileted.  a  part  of  the  rope  forms  a  diamond 
on  .  op  of  the  pack. 

The  rope  in  position,  and  everything  ready, 
it  is  "  lightened  up"  after  this  manner.  One 
packer  on  the  "off"  side  places  his  foot 
against  the  brute's  ribs,  beneath  the  pack,  and 
draws  up  on  the  portion  of  the  rope  running 
through  the  hook,  while  the  one  on  the  "  nigh" 
side  hauls  in  the  slack  over  the  top.  The  rope 
is  then  passed  round  the  corners,  pulled  and 
tightened  until  the  pack  seems  part  of  the 
horse,  and,  to  conclude,  the  end   is    firmly  se- 


\ 


THE     CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH. 


J05 


rxther  roughly 
ach  time  they 
lediately,  and 

mal,you  want ' 
.)  Thisgener- 
1  sometimes  a 
intjof  the  iiack 
!Hc/ii:  (illustr.i- 
icli  is  att^.ched 
ips,  that  com- 
and  holds  the 

put  a  blanket, 
almost  in  the 
re  acquainted 
'  States,"  you 
igh  lip  on  the 
ise  to  the  fore- 
on  the  horse, 
iive  long  (lays' 
er,  as  I  iiave 
the  hack,  and 
ver  the  middle 
the  sinche  is 
^  the  back  by 
ilmost  wholly 

is  in  its  piop- 
sinche  up  so 
:\v  York.  Mr. 
you,  with  the 
O.  C.  T.  A. 
ly  necessary, 
t  depends  the 

mg  in  various 
r  it  is  thrown 
,s.  Then  the 
ich  is  a  sinche 
,  but  supplied 
ppiied.  This 
t  the  one  gen- 
the  '•  miner's 
receiving  its 
rie  lashing  is 
lis  a  diamond 

ything  ready, 
lanner.  One 
ces  his  loot 
the  pack,  and 
■ope  running 
n  the  "nigh" 
p.  The  rope 
s,  pulled  and 
part  of  the 
is   firmly  se- 


, 


cured.  He  is  packed.  All  that  remains  is  to 
step  back  and  let  him  go.  It'  he  has  been  in 
the  business  long,  he  knows  it  is  policy  to  fall 
in  the  line  of  the  train,  and  stay  there. 

Sometimes  a  pack  will  get  loose  unperceiveu, 
or  tlirough  negligence,  and  then  a  liorse  that, 
perhajis  ten  minutes  before,  was  so  meek  and 
jaded  he  seemed  ready  to  lie  down  and  — 
rest,  bounds  instantaneously  into  energetic  ac- 
tion. Frantically  he  pianccs  around,  and 
performs  soinersets  and  double-action  feats 
worthy  of  an  accomplished  acrobat,  freely 
distributing  to  all  points  of  the  compass  an 
endless  variety  of  frying-pans,  camp-kettles, 
cofloe-inills,  and  articles  of  a  similar  chacnc- 
ter,  till,  relievctl  of  his  tormenting  pack,  he 
stops.  He  was  "bucking"  —  that  was  all. 
Rather  an  airy  accomplishment  that  vestern 
horses  have.  Woe  to  the  f'oor  rider  who 
mounts  a  prize  bucker.*  Ho  finds  out  his 
mistake  without  much  dilTiculty,  and  climbs 
into  the  air,  out  of  reach,  pretty  tpiick.  After 
our  pack-bucker  has  stopped,  he  turns,  slvly 
winks  at  his  companions,  and,  with  a  vicious 
relish,  drinks  in  the  scene  of  devastation. 

Mournfully  we  gather  up  '.he  scattered  val- 
uables, and,  replacing  them  upon  the  gentle 
creature's  back,  draw  the  lash-rope  so  verv 
tight  that,  as  he  moves  olf  to  join  the  impa- 
tient caravan,  his  every  step  causes  him  to 
give  a  most  melancholy  grunt,  that  ser\es  in 
a  measure  to  atone  for  his  work  of  desolation. 

Our  train  held  st.;adily  on  its  way  towards 
the  Kibab  Plateau,  or  lUickskin  Mountain, 
which  extends  like  a  huge  barrier  across  the 
western  sky,  from  the  angle  of  the  Vermilion 
Clifl"--  on  the  north  far  into  the  hazy  south, 
broken  only  at  one  point  by  the  Grand  Canon 
of  the  Colorado. 

It  seemed,  from  the  direction  of  our  trail,  \ 
that  our  gulch  must  be  a  branch  of  some  hid- 
den valley  of  tlie  plateau.  But  it  appeared 
such  a  long  way  off,  and  the  bright  spot  in 
the  clouds  inarking  the  sun  was  already  far 
down  towards  the  horizon.  I  hoped  it  was 
not  there.  The  snow,  too,  set  in  bold  relief 
the  tall  pines,  and  it  all  looked  .so  cold  and 
dreary  for  a  camp  I  We  had  not  our  supply 
of  winter  clothing  y.."t,  and  the  impudent  snow- 
flake  that  flitted  before  ine  felt  like  an  icicle. 

But  what  right  had  an  explorer  to  think  of 
discomforts.'  Was  it  not  his  lot.'  There  were 
dea-'  pines  atnongthe  others  that  would  make 
noble  fuel,  and  the  blaze  would  dance  and 
crackle  as  it  reminded  us  of  last  night,  when 
we  huddled  close  around   the    flashing  brush- 


fire,  now  chilled  by  the  searching  winds,  un- 
broken by  a  single  obstruction,  and  anon 
([iiickly  drawing  back  to  escape  the  fierce  con- 
flagration of  a  fresh  supply  of  brush,  and 
finally  retiring  to  our  cold  blankets  for  com- 
fort and  protection. 

My  retlections,  however,  were  superfluous, 
for  the  trail  began  to  verge  to  the  north,  and, 
as  we  neared  the  plateau,  we  turned  the  angle 
of  the  clilf,  towering  close  on  our  right,  en- 
tering a  long,  gutter-like  valley,  about  three 
miles  wide,  lying  between  the  clitfs  and  the 
plateau.  It  was  House  Rock  Valley.  We 
must,  then,  be  near  the  giilcli  and  the  famous 
House  Rock,  from  which  the  valley,  and  gulch, 
and  spring  had  derived  tlieir  names. 


P.ak  S.idclle. 


H.Tir  Sinche. 


*  Don*t  get  the  idea  from  this  that  iiicii  ride  011  the  packs, 
They  don't. 


I.asli-rope  Sinche. 

The  VermiM.on  Cliffs  were  full  of  gulches, 
and  we  looked  momentarily  for  the  trail  to 
turn  into  one  of  them,  though,  from  their  gen- 
eral aspect,  one  would  not  have  looked  thci-e 
for  water.  They  lost  some  of  their  forbidding 
impressions,  however,  as  we  became  more  ac- 
customed to  the  ruggedness,  and  as  the  vege- 
tation surrounding  began  to  change  from  the 
stunte<l  sage-brush  and  grease-wood  to  strag- 
gling ceda'-s  gathered  in  groups  here  and  there 
11.  the  valley,  the  distant  ones  appearing,  in 
tlv;  duskiness,  like  hobgoblin  troops  —  the 
.'pirits  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  guarding 
Eheirdescrt  kingdom  from  invading  footsteps; 
and  at  our  nearer  approach  the  grim  seiiti- 
nels  stretch  out  their  raggeil  arms  in  silent 
remonstrance. 

Unheeding,  the  train  moves  on,  and  the 
long,  drear,  "siwish"  of  the  night-wind,  sweep- 
ing down  the  valley  and  through  the  dark  fo- 
liage, sotinds  strangely  like  a  solemn  warning. 

Presently    the    cedars    grow    thicker,    and 


io6 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  GULCH. 


i 


pinon  (pin-j-on),  or  nut-pines,  are  inter- 
spersed. As  many  o(  both  are  dead,  prospects 
of  a  rousing  camp-fire  are  brilliant  indeed. 
We  pass,  close  'o  the  foot  of  the  cliffs,  two 
larjje  rocks,  which  have  fallen  from  above, 
and  now  rest  in  such  a  manner  that  there  is 
quite  a  space  between  them  —  a  lit''e  cave,  as 
it  were.  Under  the  projecting  upper  edge  of 
one  rock  I  could  just  read,  "  Rock  Housn 
Hotel,"  inscribed  with  charcoal.  So  it  wasn't 
much  of  a  //ousc  rock,  after  ail;  and,  as  I 
wondered  who,  out  of  ilic  rude  frontiersmen, 
had  felt  the  touch  of  ruma'ice,  we  rode  into  a 
gulch,  and  stopped.  It  was  the  Gulch  of  House 
Rock  Spring. 

The  animals  were  immediately  unpacked 
and  unsaddled,  and  soon  found  their  way  to  a 
basin  of  pure  water,  where  they  satiated  them- 
selves. The  pool  was  fed  by  a  stream  about 
two  inches  wide,  spurting  from  a  crevice  in 
the  rocks,  and  we  rejoiced  that  've  had  such 
an  unfailing  supply. 

The  camp-kettles  were  brought  up,  and  car- 
ried back  overllowing.  Everybody  washed, 
was  refreshed,  and  felt  as  though  they  could 
make  a  desperate  assault  on  the  supper,  which 
was  already  in  rapid  progress  over  a  roaring 
fire.  Even  our  two  sick  men  were  thawed  out 
by  the  cheering  warmth,  and  felt  f.miableonce 
more ;  one  experienced  so  much  comfort  that  he 
remarked  on  the  blessings  of  a  bountiful  camp. 

Our  situation,  with  everything  around  to 
make  it  comfortable,  was  appreciated.  We  ate 
our  supper  by  the  flaring  light  of  a  huge  pine 
log,  and  then  the  two  invalids  retired  in  the 
best  of  moods. 

While  four  of  us  were  to  remain  at  Llie 
gulch,  it  wa<i  decided  that  the  rest,  with  the 
sick  men  in  charge,  should  go  across  the  i)la- 
teau,  forty  miles,  to  the  sclllemcnt.  So.  early 
the  next  morning,  in  order  that  all  might  par- 
ticipate, if  necessary,  a  bullock  that  we  had 
driven  for  several  days  was  brought  up  from 
the  valley,  and  cornered  back  of  camp,  ready 
for  slaughter.  Our  ^ladiator,  in  the  shape  of 
the  "  General,"  advanced  bravely,  and  levelled 
his  old  "  Henry  "  fairly  at  the  brute's  head. 

"  Crack,"  the  piece  went,  and  the  "  critter," 
with  a  snort,  bounded  for  the  valley.  The 
bullet  had  lodi;ed  in  the  base  of  the  horns. 
But  provision  had  be-  n  made  for  this  emer- 
gency. A  vai/iicro,  mounted  on  a  lively  old 
horse,  charged  after  the  truant  steer  with 
lariat  circling  in  air;  and,  as  they  rose  on  the 
brow  of  a  neighboring  hill,  the  riatta  shot 
forward,  and  settled  on  the  animal's  horns. 
Our  beef  was  brought  up,  and,  after  a  slight 
struggle,  reluctantly  reiuiiicil. 


A  second  time  he  was  arranged  for  »«icrN 
fice.  He  was  a  gentle  creature.  His  large, 
solemn  eyes  gazed  mournfully  on  the  General 
as  a  second  "crack"  re-echoed  through  the 
gulch,  and,  with  a  low  moan,  he  sank  to  the 
ground.  Four  tempting  quarters  soon  hung 
on  a  convenient  pine,  and  supper  found  us 
enjoying  a  steak  fresh  and  tender. 

This  evening  was  to  be  the  last,  for  some 
time,  with  our  companions  who  were  going 
over  the  mountain,  and  the  last  for  years  — 
perhaps  forever  —  with  one,  tried  and  true, 
who  was  soon  to  breathe  the  balmy  zephyrs 
of  the  Orient. 

Lounging  around  the  fire,  we  chatted  over 
bygone  days  of  adventure,  and  of  that  time  — 
which  danced,  ignis-fatuus  like,  so  far  ahead 
in  the  misty  futiu-e — when  we,  too,  should 
pass  from  the  Pacific  slope,  until  the  smiling 
moon,  ridingover  the  edge  of  the  cliffs,  warned 
us  to  bed. 

The  night  was  cold,  very  cold  for  torrid 
Arizona,  the  thermometer  in  the  norning 
indicating  -|-  lo  degrees.  Wo  slept  as  well  as 
our  scanty  supply  of  blankets  would  permit, 
the  sick  men  getting  along  very  comfortably. 
My  only  distinct  recollection  was  an  insane 
attempt  I  made  to  throw  a  snjall  cactus,  which 
I  mistook  for  a  stone  in  the  combination  of 
moonlight  and  djowsiness,  at  a  jirowling 
coyote.  My  fingers  became  entangled  in  the 
spines,  and  I  hesitated.  I  thought  1  had  nc  er 
seen  anything  so  hard  to  pick  up  as  that  cao- 
tus.  The  coyote,  meanwhile,  with  a  liatefal 
sniff,  trotted  off,  and  I,  after  disengaging  my 
fingers,  turned  in  again,  half  frozen. 

Unusually  early  in  the  morning  breakfast 
was  ready  and  disposed  of.  The  packs  were 
put  en,  and  all  mounted  but  the  General,  the 
Captain,  and  the  "Pirate."  These  three,  to- 
gelhe;  >vuh  myself,  were  the  ompany  to  re- 
main. 

The  Deac.in  had  the  inllammatory  rheuma- 
tism. He  had  it  bad.  He  had  it  so  very  bad 
that,  in  his  helpless  innocence,  he  coultl  do 
nothing  but  sing  at  the  highest  pitch  of  his 
melodious  soprano,  to  drive  away  the  melan- 
choly thoughts  of  dying,  and  being  "plant- 
ed" by  the  trail-side,  — 

"  'llierc'll  be-e  no  sorrow  there, 
I'hcre'll  bc-e  no  sorrow  tlit-re  ; 
In  hciiven  above,  whcru  .UI  is  love, 
Tlicrq'll  bc-e  no  sorrow  Uicro." 

Whenever  he  travelled  at  all,  he  h.ad  to  ride, 
and  so  he  would  have  to  ride  up  the  side  cf 
the  plateau.  The  climb  was  a  sharp  one,  Uiid 
the  horse  would  be  tiroil  out;  so  I  had  to  uo 
along  (my  luck)  to  bring  him  back. 


n 


1' 


d  for  ««crN 
His  large, 
the  General 
through  the 
sank  to  the 
soon  hung 
:r   found   us 

5t,  for  some 
were  .^oing 
for  years  — 
d  and  true, 
my  zepliyrs 

hatted  over 
that  time  — 
3  far  ahead 
too,  sliould 
the  smiling 
iffs,  warned 

i  for  torrid 
e  morning 
t  as  well  as 
uld  permit, 
omfortably. 
i  an  insane 
ictus,  which 
Liination  of 
a  prowling 
gled  in  the 
1  liad  nc  er 
IS  that  ca;- 
li  a  hatefil 
igaging  my 

Ml, 

g  breakfast 
packs  were 
Jencral,  the 
e  three,  lo- 
pany  to  re- 

ry  rheuma- 
60  very  bad 
ic  could  do 
litch  of  ills 
the  melan- 
iig  "  plant- 


had  to  ride, 

the  side  cf 

rp  one,  aad 

had  to  ao 


r  H  K    POND, 


i 


I 


I 


■ : 

I 


1 


THE     CAMP     IN     THE     GULCH. 


109 


When  we  rcnchcd  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
the  most  gradual  rise  was  selected,  and.  after 
a  (leal  of  lianl  scrambling,  the  summit  was 
gained,  where  all  were  willing  to  take  a  rest. 
A  lialf  mile  hack  from  the  ascent,  the  De:ier)n 
was  transferred  from  Thunderbolt  to  "Okl 
Doc."  a  staid  and  pensive  steed.  Then  I  hade 
tliem  all  a  final  farewell,  and  turned  towards 
the  verge  of  the  plateau,  with  my  cayoose  in 
tow.  As  I  walked  along,  the  Deacon's  sono- 
rous voice  eclioed  thri>u.;h  the  timber,  — 

"  O,  Doc!  f lease.  Doc.  won't  you  go?" 

I  presumed  that  Doc  had  got  to  studying 
geologv,  as  the  train  n;oved  over  the  exposed 
strata;  but  I  did  not  for  a  moment  imagine 
that  he  would  disregard  such  an  entreaty.  It 
would  have  moved  an  orang-outang  to  tears. 

From  what  followed,  I  concluded  that  Doc 
was  possessed  of  a  hard  heart,  tiiat  had  been 
deaf  (o  the  Deacon's  gentle  tones  ;  also  thai 
the  latter  had  forgotten  tliere  would  be  '■  no 
sorrow  there."  for  he  produced  a  paragraph  of 
persuasion,  which,  crashing  like  a  whirlwind 
through  the  stout  branches,  actually  made  old 
Thuiulerbolt's  teeth  chatter.  It  was  a  tri- 
umph! There  was  no  room  for  a  doubt,  and 
I  passed  out  of  hearing,  satisfied  that  as  an 
cxhorter  the  Deacon  was  a  grand  success. 

Emerging  from  the  fiinber,  I  stopped  to 
contemplate  the  view.  First,  far  away  in  the 
north,  could  be  seen  the  end  of  the  /'oun-smzv- 
gunl  plateau,  followed  hy  Table  Mountain 
with  its  vertical,  pink  face,  and  intervening 
the  broken  lines  of  clilT. 

Further  to  the  cast  came  the  sharp  peak  just 
to  the  right  of  Talile  Mountain,  and  the  long 
line  of  regular  clilTs,  swinging  round  to  the 
Navajo  Mountain,  which  loomed  up  majesti- 
cally in  its  solitary  grandeur;  while  peeping 
over  the  top  <5f  these  cliffs  were  the  five  snow- 
white  peaks  of  the  unknown  range,  lying  close 
to  the  Dirty  Devil  River.  Between  me  and 
the  clilVs  were  House  Rock  \'afley,  the  \'er- 
milion  Cliffs,  the  Pa  Ria  Plateau,  the  narrow 
caiion  of  the  Pa  Ria  River,  and  a  vast  expanse 
of  broken  desert.  To  the  south  was  the  long 
line  of  the  Kibab,  ending  in  a  mass  o('  rugged 
crags;  and  an  expressionless  stretch  of  weary 
desert,  separated  by  the  narrow  but  deep  gorge 
of  the  Colorado. 

All  was  but  bitter  desolation.  There  was 
something  fascinating  about  the  view;  hut  to 
call  it  beautiful  was  impossible,  for  beauty 
seems  to  imply  charming  softness  and  regu- 
larity of  outline —  a  view,  for  instance,  which, 
instead  of  crushing  one,  bv  its  grandeur,  with 
an  overwhelming  realization  of  his  own  in- 
significance, breathes  upon   him   a  soft,  ethe- 


real zephyr,  that  melts  all  the  harshness  of 
his  worldly  spirit  into  rapture,  and  transports 
his  soul  towards  an  lesthetic  throne. 

Tl'.e  scene  before  me  was  not  one  of  this 
kind.  It  was  stern  and  cold.  It  reflected  the 
brilliant  sim  with  an  unchecked  fierceness. 
The  dazzling  glare  of  innumerable  colors 
stunned  me.  The  dark  gorges  seemed  threat- 
ening to  swallow  me  up,  and  the  ragged  peaks 
to  toss  me  to  the  sky.  I  felt  lonely.  For  re- 
lief, I  gazed  with  my  glass  towards  the  gulch, 
to  se^'  just  one  sign  of  reassuring  life ;  but  the 
film  of  blue  smoke  that  usually  marks  a  hidden 
camp  was  dissolved  in  the  shimmering  haze. 

Like  a  frightened  boy,  I  concluded  i  wasn't 
wanted  around  there,  and  started  for  "  home.  ' 
I    went   down     the     trail,    with    Thunderbolt 


A  Coyote  annihilited. 

leading  behind,  and  had  gone  but  a  few  feet 
when  I  found  that  this  broncho,  like  the  gen- 
erality of  western  horses,  had  a  will  of  his 
own.  He  didn't  believe  in  going  down  hill 
without  calculating  every  footstep;  that  is,  he 
didn't  helievi"  it  till  I  convinced  him  of  the 
follv  of  his  ways  with  a  Spanish  bayonet. 

When  I  arrived  in  camp  once  more,  I  found 
my  companions  busy  pitching  a  four  hy  eight 
observation  tent  close  10  the  fire.  At'ter  it  was 
stayed  and  guyed  thoroughly,  the  captain  cov- 
ered the  ground  inside  with  the  dry,  sweet- 
scented  canes  from  the  spring.  Upon  these 
our  blankets  were  spread,  and  then  we  stepped 
hack  to  admire  the  institution,  which  pervaded 
the  entire  gulch  with  such  an  air  of  comfort. 

As  darkness  settled  once  again  over  the  val- 
ley, and  a  delicious  odor  was  wafting  to  any 
one.  but  especially  to  the  hunger-stricken  coy- 
ote (kj-o-ty),  from  the  beef  sputtering  over 
the  fire,  a  chorus  of  the  latter  saluted  us  from 
out  in  the  valley. 


I  lO 


THE     CAMP     IN    THE     GULCH. 


••  Boys."  iNcIaimcd  Cap.,  "  I'm  going  into  I      W'c  were  K-liluin  ilistiirbed  nt  night  in  oni 
ic    fur  business :      Covote    fckitis    .ire  prettv  |  <iiiicl  gulch  bv  :in\  thing  but  tlic  clisclmrge  ol 
good  now,  am]  Tm  going  to  tnip  enough  to  ;  Cap.'s  pistol,  insliiating  the  Jcce.nsc  of  an  in- 
inake  .1  robe."  |  vcstig.Tling  committee  ot'  one  coyote.      'I'htf 

And  the  first  thing  the  next  morning  C.ip.  |  C.nptain  w.ns  enthusiastic.  At  tiie  "  bang"  of 
built  a  wolf-pen  bewcen  a  couple  of  isolated  i  the  pistol  he  would  jump  up,  draw  on  his  un- 
rocks,  and  setting  his   six-sliooter,  baited  the  i  nientionables  with    astonishing  rapidity,  and 


trap,  so  that  any  sneaking  specimen  of  a  cov- 
nte.  altompting  to  silence  the  pangs  of  his 
gnawing  stomach,  would  be  annihilated  in- 
stantly. 

Perhaps  some  of  my  younger  readers  tjiink 
:hat  we  should  have  taken  the  war-path  against 
the  grizzly,  or  some  other  fierce  Huorite  of 
the  far  west,  instead  of  trapping  covotes.  But 
they  must  remember  that  the  west  is  an  exten- 
sive region,  and  one  doesn't  stumble  on  a 
grizzly  behind  every  bush.  Besides,  the  sec- 
tion we  were  in  was  most  gloriously  fjee  from 
any  wild  animals  but  wolves  and  jack-rabbits, 
and  a  few  timid  deer.  You  see,  then,  it  would 
have  been  a  long  hunt  for  a  grizzly.  The 
deer  were  so  scarce  th:it  we  saw  hut  a  track 
now  and  then;  and  the  ralibits  we  didn't  want. 
Nothing  remained  but  co\otcs;  and  every- 
boily  is  ready  to  take  vengeance  on  them. 

We  knew  wistful  eyes  gazed  longinglv,  by 
moonliglrt,  at  our  beef  in  the  tree.  It  was  a 
clear  case  of  sour  grapes  !  We  resolved,  com- 
passionately, to  remove  a  portion  of  the  meat 
by  ''jerking"  it.  In  connection  with  western 
life,  you  have  often  read  of  jerked  meat,  yet, 
possibly,  do  not  know  how  it  is  prepared  ;  so 
I  will  tell  you  the  manner  of  our  proceed- 
ings. 

To  begin  with,  the  General  went  to  work  and 
built  a  scaffold,  and  when  that  wa«  finished, 
we  lowered  three  quartL-rs  from  the  pine,  and 
cut  the  meat  off  in  long,  thin  strips.  These 
we  dipped  in  brine,  and  then  strung  on  slim 
willows.  The  willows  were  next  laid  on  the 
scaffolding  in  such  a  manner  that  the  strips 
of  meat  swung  clear  beneath.  In  this  posi- 
tion they  were  exposed  to  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
and  also  to  that  of  a  fire.  The  mercury,  in 
the  daytime,  being  above  the  freezing  point, 
this  combination  of  drying  forces  had  a  tell- 
ing effect. 

We  deduce,  then,  the  coucluJon  that  jerk- 
ing meat  is  simply  drying  it  in  thin  strips  by 
the  agency  of  the  ;  un.  or  the  sim  and  a  fire, 
in  order  to  preserve  it  in  a  compact  form  for 
future  use. 

Upon  this  quantity  of  beef  we  spent  much 
labor,  and  lost  the  whole  of  it  shortly  after; 
had  to  stand  guard  over  it  one  night  to  pre- 
vent the  coyotes  devouring  it  as  they  liad  every 
fragment  of  the  entrails. 


<l:ish  out  into  the  icy  night.  We  three  would 
wake  a  moment  to  be  real  certain  that  it  wasn't 
a  band  of  Navajoes.  performing  a  cold-blood- 
ed massacre  upon  us.  and  then  turn  over  and 
go  to  sleep  again.  In  the  morning  a  skiinu-il 
coyote  invariably  lunig  to  the  little  pine  In 
ihe  fire,  a  sad  Init  silent  witness  to  its  own 
cruel  fate. 

The  novelty  of  camping  in  the  gulch  hcLjan 
to  wear  off.  The  General  talked  of  building  a 
s»)ne  house,  but  couldn't  get  anybody  to  go 
in  with  him.  At  last  he  gave  it  up.  and,  t.houl- 
dering  his  trusty  seventecn-shooter.  would 
spend  his  tiays  scouting  around  the  vicinitv, 
penetrating  tlie  mysterious  gulches  in  the 
cliff-,  and  climbing  to  the  romantic  spots  on 
the  plateau. 

The  Captain,  as   a   rule,  would  rejiose  lan- 
guidly in   the  cushioned   tent,  dreaming  of  a 
fair   one  far   beyond    the    Rocky    Mountains, 
while  the  Pirate,  with  me  for  a  companion, 
would  climb  the  cliffs,  and  search  for  speci- 
mens of  pottery  and  arrow-heads,  scattered 
near  and  far,  from  the  workshops  of  our  inter- 
esting ancient  Americans,  the  S/'i/toiHOS. 
One  evening  tl.e  Pirate  rose  and  spoke. 
"  Boys,  these  evenings  are   becoming  abso- 
lutely monotonous.     Now  I  propose,  for  mu- 
tual benefit,  that  we  begin  a  series  of  lectunis. 
I've  been  thinking  of  it  all  day,  and  conclude 
that  there  is   an  ample  sufficiency  of  talent. 
What  do  you  say?" 
"  Lectures!  "  we  exclaimed,  surprised. 
"  Call  them  camp-stories,  then,  if  you  will." 
"No,"    put    in    Cap.,    "lectures.       That's 
good." 

Then  the  General  spoke,  glancing  trom  un- 
der his  broad-brimmed  hat  with  his  snapping 
blue  eyes,  and  spurting  a  stream  of  tobacco 
juice  at  a  live  coal  which  rolled  from  the  fire. 
"Well,  gentlemen,  I  ain't  much  on  this 
science  business  —  don't  know  much  about 
your  sermometers,  and  threeoddlitos  and  to- 
pogerpliy,  and  that  stuff,  but  may  be  I  can 
tell  a  .story,     I'll  think  of  it,  any  «  ay," 

After  a  consultation,  it  was  decided  that  the 
first  lecture  in  the  •' Rock  Spring  Course" 
would  be  delivered  by  Mr.  —  ah  —  my  Pirate; 
sidiject,  "The  Saints  in  the  Valleys  in  the 
Mountains."  From  very  short  hand  notes  ir 
will  be  produced  next  month. 


I. 


i 


TIIK     CAMP    IX     Tlir:     GULCH. 


I  I  1 


A   Mormon   Ball. 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  GULCH, 

II  -THE  SAINTS  IN  THE   VALLEYS  IN 
THE  MOUNTAINS. 

BY  jrsTIN    DAr.F. 

QL'PPF.R  was  over.  Tho  identic  breeze 
»s-'  creeping'  tlirniifjii  the  <;iili-li  was  eool  ami 
braeini;,  but  ni)t  strmiu  enoii^jh  to  whirl  the 
smoke  of  the  fire  in  our  laces.  And  the  (ire. 
too,  was  a  fierce  one  —  one  whose  radiance 
seemed  to  shut  us  in  from  tile  surroundiiv^ 
darkness,  and  made  us  ("eel.  after  our  heartv 
meal,  indescribably  comfortable.  Above  us 
arched  the  celestial  dome,  iflitterinsj,  from  the 
mvriads  of  stars,  with  that  icy  brilliuncv  so 
peculiar  to  the  Rocky  Mountain  res,'ion  :  while 
now  and  then  a  dartin'4  meteor  reminded  us 
tluat  the  apparently  steaily  mass  was  an  infi- 
nite number  of  definite  bodies,  eacli  one  iier- 
formins^  its  movements  with  a  precision  more 
perfect  than  the  most  delicate  chronometer. 
And  to  think  that  we  and  our  Lalter-Dav 
Saints,  whom  the  Pirate  would  discuss  this 
evening,  were  mere  mites!  But  here  is  the 
Pirate  to  speak  for  himself,  and  break  up  my 
reverie. 

lie  had  arisen  before  the  little  pine.  Me 
nibbed  his  hands,  and  besfan  with  really  the 
air  of  a  Sumner  or  a  Schurz  :  — 


•■  Perhaps,  gentlemen,  you  think  my  title 
of  '  The  .Saints  in  the  Valleys  in  the  Moun- 
tains'a  little  peculiar;  and  so,  I  will  admit, 
it  is:  but  it  is  taken  directly  from  the  good 
Saints'  own  speech.  Of  com-sc  you  are  aware 
•  hat  •  Mormon  '  is  a  name  applied  to  the  Saints 
oniv  bv  the  outside  world,  on  account  of  their 
adoption  of  the  writin"s  of  one  Mormon,  the 
last  of  a  tribe  called  t  -•  Nephites.  The  title- 
page  of  the  work  of  Mormon  is.  '  The  Book 
of  Mormon,  an  Account  written  by  the  Hand 
of  Mormon  upon  Plates  taken  from  the  Plates 
of  Nephi.'  —  then  the  testimony  of  the  eleven 
witnesses. —  ■  translated  bv  Joseph  Smith. 
Jun.'  Thus  you  see  why  they  are  called  Mor- 
mons, while  tliev  stvlc  themselves  the  Church 
of  Jesus  Christ  of  Latter-Day  .Saints,  and  in 
their  prr.vers  call  upon  the  Lord  to  bless 
them.  ■  the  Saints  in  the  valleys  in  the  moun- 
tains.'    Hence  my  title. 

••  It  would  take  me  all  night  were  I  to  tell 
you  the  minute  history  of  the  Saints:  so  I 
will  onlv  tpiote  a  few  (piestions  .uul  answers 
from  their  catechism,  in  order  that  you  m.ay 
get  an  accurate  idea  of  their  origin.  'S'ou  will 
also  perceive  at  once  that  a  portion,  at  least, 
of  the  doctrine  is  as  soimd  as  any  ever  ex- 
pounded. Here  is  the  book,  which  I  fortu- 
nately have  with  me.  It  was  published  at 
Liverjiool,  England,  in  1855,  and  is  edited  by 


i 


1  12 


TlIK     CAMP     IN     THE     Gtll.CII. 


Elder  John  Jaques.  It  begins  by  asking  what 
your  name  is,  who  gave  it  to  you,  when  you 
were  born,  &c. 

^.    What  duties  should  you  perform? 

A.  My  duty  to  God,  and  my  duty  to  my 
parents,  and  to  all  mankind. 

^.    What  is  your  duty  towards  your  parents? 

A.   To  love  and  obey  them. 

^.  Why  should  you  love  and  obey  your 
parents? 

A.  Because  it  is  a  command  of  God,  and 
because  they  were  the  means  of  bringing  me 
into  the  world :  they  nursed  and  fed  me  when 
I  was  a  little  babe,  and  now  continually  love 
me,  and  provide  food,  clothing,  aud  lodging 
for  me  :  they  watch  over  me  in  sickness,  direct 
me  in  health,  and  teach  me  to  be  clean,  neat, 
industrious,  and  orderly,  so  that  when  I  have 
grown  up  I  may  be  useful. 

^.    What  is  your  duty  to  all  mankind? 
A.   To  love  them,  and  to  treat  them  with 
kindness. 

^.  There  are  now  on  the  eartli  a  great 
number  of  religious  societies,  each  professing 
to  be  the  church  of  Christ;  which  amongst 
them  all  is  the  true  church? 

A.  The  CIh  ch  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Latter- 
Day  Saints. 

"  I  quote  next  an  answer. 

"  'On  the  night  of  the  2ist  of  September, 
1823,  the  angel  Moroni  appeared  to  him  (J. 
Smith)  three  times,  giving  him  much  instruc- 
tion, and  informing  him  that  God  had  a  work 
for  him  to  do.  which  should  cause  his  name 
to  be  good  and  evil  spoken  of  among  all  peo- 
ple; also  that  a  record,  written  upon  gold 
plates,  and  giving  an  account  of  the  ancient  in- 
habitants of  America,  and  the  dealings  of  God 
with  them,  was  deposited  in  a  particular  place 
in  the  earth,  and  with  the  record,  two  stones, 
in  silver  bows,  which  were  anciently  called 
the  Urim  and  the  Thummim,  and  by  which 
God  revealed  intelligence  to  his  people.'" 

The  Pirate  read  many  more,  but  my  space 
will  allow  me  to  reproduce  only  the  follow- 
ing:— 

^.  Where  and  when  was  the  Church  of 
Christ  organized  by  Joseph  Smith? 

A.  It  was  organized  at  Fayette,  Seneca 
County,  N.  Y.,  on  the  6th  of  April,  1830,  and 
consisted  of  six  members. 

^.    Where  will  the  New  Jerusalem  stand? 

A.  In  Jackson  County,  Missouri,  where  a 
temple,  the  site  of  which  was  dedicated  in 
1831,  will  eventually  be  built. 


^.  After  the  thousand  yeais  of  peace,  what 
will  occur?  (This  thousand  years  is  the  lec- 
ond  advent  of  Christ.) 

A.  Satan  will  be  again  let  loose  among  the 
children  of  men,  and  will  stir  them  up  to  war 
against  the  Saints;  but  he  and  they  who  will 
obey  him  will  be  overthrown,  and  will  receive 
their  final  judgment.  The  heavens  and  the 
earth  will  pass  away,  and  a  new  heavens  and 
a  new  earth  will  be  created,  on  which  the  glo- 
rified, immortal  Saints  will  live  and  reign  as 
kings  and  priests,  throughout  eternity. 

"  You  see,  then,"  the  Pirate  continued, 
"our  actual  acquaintance  with  our  sectarian 
friends  begins  about  the  year  1830,  when  Jo- 
seph Smith  first  began  to  expound  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Book  of  Mormon,  and  was  im- 
mediately dubbed  a  '  Mormon.'  The  world  is 
peopled  by  many  vastly  different  classes;  and 
it  is  not  surprising  that  Joseph,  aided  by  his 
brother  Hiram  and  others,  soon  succeeded  in 
gaining  a  permanent  foothold. 

"Anxious  to  get  beyond  the  trammellings 
of  other  sects,  the  Saints  settled  en  masse  at 
Nauvoo.  For  a  time  tliey  flourished;  but,  as 
they  say  themselves,  without  persecution  their 
creed  would  not  conform  to  its  pretensions. 
Accordingly,  persecution  gathered  about  and 
all  at  once  burst  upon  them  with  a  fury  they 
could  not  resist.  Joseph  and  Hiram  were 
seized  and  thrown  into  Carthage  jail,  as  dis- 
turbers of  the  public  peace,  to  await  their 
trial. 

'  •  Doubtless  they  would  have  been  dealt  with 
according  to  the  laws;  but  as  certain  irregu- 
lar proceedings  gained  greater  publicity,  the 
fast-growing  anger  of  the  unbelievers  was 
fanned  to  madness.  Resolved  not  to  await 
the  action  of  slow-moving  law,  but  to  admin- 
ister what  they  considered  justice,  immedi- 
ately a  mob  hurried  to  the  jail,  and  murdered 
Joseph  and  Hiram  in  cold  blood. 

"It  was  no  longer  policy  for  the  Saints  to  re- 
main in  Missouri  or  Illinois,  as  every  moment 
they  were  in  danger  of  extermination.  They 
had  no  leader ;  but  a  young  man,  a  Vermonter, 
by  name  Brigham  Young,  already  president 
of  the  twelve  apostles,  placed  himself  for  the 
time  being  in  Joseph's  shoes.  He  took  charge 
of  the  whole  outfit  of  Saints,  Nauvoo  Legion 
and  all,  and  began  to  seek  a  new  home  for  his 
people.  For  the  Saints  it  was  a  'ten-strike.' 
Probably,  of  all  the  men  who  then  believed 
in  Mormonism,  or  who  have  since  embraced 
the  doctrine,  none  would  have  used  the  clear 
judgment  and  good  generalship  that  now 
give  Brigham  his  notoriety.  He  perceived 
instantly  that  his  people  must  be  isolated  i»" 


THE     CAMP     I\     Tin:     GILCII. 


"3 


o  Legion 

ne  for  his 

en-strike.' 

believed 

embraced 

the  clear 

that    now 

perceived                           I 
iolated  if                            1 

# 

.               : 

in  a  similar  tnannor." 


they  would  prosper.  He  scanned  the  horizon  the  pr.nving  became  more  powerful,  the  re- 
fer indications  of  a  favorable  land.  Against  aition  was  greater,  until  one  could  plainly 
the  western  sky  he  thought  lie  saw  the  appro-  hear  the  bones  crack  and  snap  as  the  v  assumed 
priatc  spot,  anil,  very  consistently  ami  con-  tlieir  original  [lositions.  In  a  verv  short  time 
veniently.  had  a  vision  of  a  verdant,  moun-  the  child  was  again  plaving  on  the  wagon- 
tain-guarded  valley,  lying  to  westward,  which  ;  seat,  and  the  caravan  pursued  its  wavasthou^'h 
he  related  to  his  followers.  Then  ho  took  a  nothing  of  coiiseipience  had  occurred.  All 
few  jiicked  men,  and  pushed  forward  until  he     iliis  —  " 

saw  the  valley  of  the   Oreat  Salt   Lake,  when  "  Now,  see  here,  my  Christian  friend:  I  hate 

he  returneil  for  his  Ibllowers.  to  interrupt  you;    but    that  won't    go    down. 

••.Vs  his  selected  doniaih  belonged  to  Mex-  You  stille  me.  I  iii/is/  have  a  chance  to  catch 
ico,  he  did  not  anticipate  any  disturbance;  not,  a  breath.  Ila,  ha,  ha!  "  laughed  Cap,  and  ue 
at  least,  until   the   Latter-Day  .Saints  had  oh-  [  all  joined  the  chorus. 

tained  so  firm  a  foundation  that  they  could,  i  "  Well,  boys,  1  tlon't  care  whether  vou  bo- 
froni  their  valleys  in  the  mountains,  repel  all  I  .e  it  or  not;  but  those  are  the  verv  facts  that 
ordinary  assaults.  Isaac  Ilaight  related,  asserting  that  he  was  an 

"Confiding  themselves  to  their  (iod,  the  eye-witness,  and  that  it  was  but  one  of  a  hun- 
Mormons  set  out  on  their  pilgrimage,  and  dred,  ay,  of  a  thousand,  equally  miraculous 
^pent  the  winter  ot'  18^6-7  near  the  present  cases  which  had  happened  anion"  the  true 
site  uf  Council  IJlulfs.  Tiiey  lelt  behiiul  sure  Saints.  He  stated  further,  that  any  one  af- 
promises  of  a  return  at  some  future  date,  to  llictcd  could,  by  having  faith,  be  made  whole 
finish  the  temple  which  had  been  begun  in 
Jackson  County,  and  received  in  return  the 
sneers  and  curses  of  the  impetuous  Missou- 
rians.  They  weathered  the  storms  of  the 
winter  in  truly  a  miserable  condition,  all,  at 
one  time,  almost  starving  t(i  death.  Indeed. 
they  would  have  quite  gone  hail  it  not  been 
for  an  interjiosition  of  Providence,  who  di- 
rected countless  numbers  of  quails  straight 
through  the  cncami)mcnt. 

"With  ease  the  fowls  were  caught  and 
slaughtered  on  every  hand.  The  old  women, 
even,  rendered  liy  hunger  too  feeble  to  move 
about,  reachvd  forth  tVom  their  wretched  bedS, 
and  clutching  the  birds,  quickly  despatched 
them.  Thus  it  was  with  tearful  jov  that  they 
hailed  the  invigorating  spring-time  once 
again,  and  started  to  complete  their  weari- 
son.j  march  across  the  western  rocks  to  their 
pro.nised  land.  They  had  accidents,  and  were 
beset  with  innuincrable  dangers;  but  the  ac- 
cidents to  individuals  were  speedily  cured  bv 
their  'laying  on  of  hands,"  by  the  elders,  while 


Ilri^'li  im   VouiL^'s  Hoiis 


He  looked  around. 

"Go   ahead."   said    the    General;    "we've 
nothing  more  to  sav." 

"Tiien,  to  proceed:  besides  the  hardships 
of  plains  travelling,  our  pilgrims  had  to  keep 
a  constant  outlook  for  hostile  Indians,  an  I  be 
ever  ready  to  check  a  '(impede.  One  tine 
voices  from  above  guided  their  footsteps  day.  however  (July  24,  1847),  they  found  them- 
through   paths  of  safety.  selves  beside  what  is   now  called   City  Creek; 

"  Speaking  ofthe  laying  on  of  hands  reminds  and.  like  Columbus  and  Cortez.  and  other 
me  of  a  story  told  by  Isaac  Ilaight  of  a  cir-  pioneers.  Brigham's  first  action  was  to  return 
cumstance  which  oicurred  on  the  plains.  A  thanks  10  the  Almighty  for  their  safe  arrival 
little  boy  fell  from  his  father's  wagon,  and  in  their  •  Eden.'  (How  much  it  resembles  an 
two  wheels  of  the  heavy  vehicle  passed  over  '  Eden  I)  Provisions  began  to  become  a  scarce 
his  chest.  He  was  literally  crushed.  Many  article,  and  they  turned  their  attention  to 
people  would  have  consigned  him  to  death;  hunting  something  to  eat.  Thev  found  a 
but  the  Mormons  were  not  of  that  class.  They  species  of  lily,  the  bulb  of  which  was  eaten 
placed  the  poor  little  fellow  comfortably  in  by  the  Indians,  and  called  '  .sc^'-o.'  These  grew 
the  wagon,  entreated  him  to  hold  his  faith,  abundantly,  and  upon  them  they  depended 
and  called  a  council  of  elders.  Hinds  were  ;  mainly  for  food.  In  addition  were  a  wild 
laid  on,  and  reconstruction  commenced.  As  cabbage  and  numerous  varieties  of  roots  and 
8 


114 


Tin:    CAMP    IN    THE    (JULCII. 


herbs,  which  they  collected  in  lar^  '■  quantities, 
In  preparation  for  the  coming  winter. 

"  They  labored  unceasingly  to  get  all  in  order 
before  the  winter;  but  the  few  short  months 
slipped  rapidly  by,  and,  almost  before  they 
were  aware,  cuttinj;  blasts  swept  down  from 
the  Kreat  Wasatch  ran^e,  buried  under  a  thick 
blanket  of  snow.  They  quailed  some  before 
the  dark  prospect,  thoui^h  all  did  their  best, 
until  their  doj{gcd  perseverance,  and  faith  in 
their  revelations  and  prophecies,  carried  them 
through. 

"  Before  another  winter  could  catch  them 
unprovided,  the  city  by  the  Great  Salt  Lake 
had  assumed  a  definite  shape,  and  the  State 
of  Deseret  (lung  its  banners  to  the  breeze  over 
Brigham's  throne.  I  say  '  throne,'  for  it  was 
notliingelse.  Was  Brighain —  now  appointed 
bv  divine  rcvLiation  the  prophet,  seer,  reve- 
■  ator,  president,  and  j^lory  of  the  Church  of 
Jesus  Christ  of  Lai  ter-Day  Saints,  and  elected 
governor  of  the  State  of  Deseret  by  his  sub- 
jects—  r.ught  but  a  king?  Who  would  dare 
to  question  his  revelations.?  Who  would  dare 
to  utter  the  sliy;htest  hint  against  the  monarch 
of  this  theocracy?  Some  there  were,  subse- 
quently, who  dared;  and,  if  we  are  to  believe 
confessions,  the  Desiroyi'ujr  Angels  qiiicUy  tied 
their  troublesome  tongues. 

"  The  little  settlement  rapidly  acquired  a 
basis.  A  stream  of  immigrants  poured  in, 
and  one  by  one  the  adobe  huts  shot  up  in  the 
clear  sunshine  like  toadstools.  Prospects 
brightened.  The  missionaries  in  Europe  and 
in  the  Slates  pictured  with  charming  colors 
the  vast  fertile  garden  in  the  valleys  in  the 
mountains,  and  hundreds  of  beings,  who  could 
hardly  earn  their  daily  bread  in  the  old  coun- 
tries, were  enraptured  by  the  glowing  picture, 
and  eagerly  embraced  the  creed  which  should 
so  speedily  transport  them  from  their  drudgery 
to  an  almost  earthly  paradise.  Therefore  they 
came  to  the  valleys  in  the  mountains.  Dis- 
tance had,  indeed,  lent  enchantment  to  the 
view,  for  on  closer  sight  they  found  no  varie- 
gated garden-land,  but  a  rugged,  barren  wil- 
derness. Did  not  some  of  them  heartily  wish 
themselves  back  to  their  old  homes  ?  Possibly, 
and  probably.  But,  could  they  have  returned, 
many  would  not  have  done  so  after  a  few 
months'  residence  in  Mormondom,  for  there 
were  no  influences  to  counteract  the  teachings 
of  the  Church,  constantly  sounding  in  their 
ears.  The  fact  was,  that  they  began  to  think 
that  the  doctrines  were  right,  and  that  this 
was  their  destiny.  Most  of  the  converts  were 
narrow-minded  people,  and  Mormonism,  ap- 
pealing to  superstition,  closed  about  them  with 


au  unyielding  grasp.  Thus  most  of  the  poor 
creatures  became  downright  Mormons,  simply 
because  they  could  not  help  it.  They  had  not 
the  moral  power,  nor  the  intellectual  training, 
to  resist  its  supernatural  ideas. 

"After  the  settlement  of  Salt  Lake  Valley, 
scouts  were  sent  out  with  small  exploring 
parties  into  the  surrounding  unknown  regions. 
Sites  for  new  settlements  were  selected,  and 
gradually  the  territory  began  to  assume  a  civ- 
ilized  appearance." 

The  Pirate  then  told  how  the  State  of  Des- 
eret was  ceded,  with  other  territory,  to  the 
United  States  by  Mexico,  and  was  entitled 
"  Utah ;"  how  Brigham  was  appointed  gov- 
ernor, and  served  until  1S57;  and  many  other 
interesting  things,  which  1  am  obliged  to 
skip  for  want  of  space. 

"  Until  the  Union  P.icific  Railroad  poured 
its  flood  of  •  Gentiles  '  into  the  Mormon  realm, 
something  like  hatred  existed  between  certain 
classes.  It  is  asserted  that  no  unbeliever's 
life  was  worth  much  if  he  uttered  a  word 
against  Brigham  or  the  Church.  Brigham,  it 
is  claimed,  once  delivered  a  sermon  in  which 
he  swore  that  he  would  send  all  opposers 
'  cross  lots  to  hell.'  To  facilitate  his  move- 
ments, he  organized  a  band  of  'Destroying 
Angels,' with  Bill  Hickman  at  their  head.  The 
latter  has  since  made  a  confession,  in  whi<-li 
he  accuses  Brigham  of  authorizing  some  of  the 
most  diabolical  deeds.  But  there  are  many 
reasons  for  believing  that  the  confession  is 
merely  a  fabrication,  made  to  sell.  At  any 
fate,  what  would  one  believe  from  a  man  who 
confesses  such  cowardly  deeds  of  murder? 

"John  D.  Lee  and  Isaac  Ilaight  are  other 
Mormons  notorious  for  their  alleged  wicked- 
ness. The  loathsome  tragedy  of  Mountain 
Meadows,  it  is  said,  was  enacted  under  their 
direction.  Lee  boldly  asserts  that  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it;  says  he  is  a  kind-heart- 
ed man,  and  cried  like  a  child  when  he  found 
that  his  brethren  were  bent  upon  exterminat- 
ing the  audacious  Missourians.  When  we 
compare  this  alTair  with  the  action  of  the  Mis- 
sourians against  the  Mormons  in  early  days, 
we  see  that  it  is  but  natural  that  the  latter 
should  thirst  for  revenge.  They  took  ample 
vengeance!  Although  Lee  claims  innocence, 
he  swears  he  will  not  be  taken,  as  it  would 
expose  members  who  'did  the  deed  through 
their  great  zeal  in  serving  the  Church.'  There- 
fore he  is  constantly  armed  with  a  seven- 
shooter  and  a  seventeen-shooting  rifle;  and 
though  I  camped  byiiiis  farm  for  three  weeks, 
I  never  once  found  him  oft"  his  guard.  The 
click  of  a  gun-lock  would  draw  his  eyes  in- 


'> 


f  i 


THE     CAMP     IN     THE    OULCM. 


"5 


stantancously.      Once,  when    I   borrowetl  his 

only  siuldle  t<>  ride  out  to  the  settlement,  he 
said,  as  I  mounted,  'Tell  the  bov- '  (m.v  loin- 
pan'ions  who  remained)  '  it  would  be  no  u>e 
to  try  to  take  me,  for  amonn  these  rocks  I 
could  defy  an  army.'  We  could  have  taken 
him  a  hundred  times  before  that;  but  that 
wasn't  what  we  were  there  for  —  " 

liaiii^'     A  pistol-shot. 

•■There's  your  conl'ounded  wolf-trap!  Let 
it  j{o  now  ;  I  want  to  j{o  on.  —  l'olyj;amy  comes 
next.  .\s  vou  know,  that  is  the  most  ohjec- 
tionable  feature  of  Moinionisin.  It  does  \\{>t 
belong;  properly  to  the  IJook  of  Mormon,  but 
was  an  afterthous.;ht — I  mean,  a  sul)~eipient 
revelation.  For  a  loni;  time  it  held  its  own 
with  all.  some  of  the  .Saints  invcstini;  heavily, 
John  1).  Lee,  of  whom  1  spoke,  havini;  !i:ul 
some  sixty  wives  and  seventy-two  children. 
.\s  a  rule,  three  or  four  wives  was  the  maxi- 
mum. 

"  At  present  polygamy  is  on  the  deiline  with 
all  who  eare  anything  about  the  ojiinion  of 
the  world  ;  but  what  can  you  erpeet  of  people 
reared  in  those  valleys  in  the  mountains, 
where  schools  are  \ery  little  known.'  Think 
of  voung  men  and  women  who  can  scarcely 
write  their  own  names;  never  saw  a  railroad; 
don't  know  whether  Lomlon  or  the  LnileJ 
States  is  the  bigger,  and  are  taught  to  believe 
that  those  familiar  elitVs  and  mountains  are 
tticir  property,  witil  which  the  United  States 
govermnent  has  no  right  to  interfere;  and 
that  •  Brother'  Rrigham  is  the  being  endoweil 
with  unlimited  powers,  whom  they  must  look 
uj)  to  and  worship.  And  it  is  not  only  the 
younger  class  who  know  nothing,  but  most  of 
the  older  ones  know  still  less.  To  be  sure, 
there  are  sonic  'smart"  men  in  Utah,  but 
thcv  are  alw.ays  sure  to  have  a  high  and  lucra- 
tive position. 

'•To  outsiders  the  Mormon  women  alw.ays 
endeavor  to  appear  cheerful;  but  to  anyone 
who  can  sympathi/e  with  their  woes,  and  gain 
their  confidence,  they  will  pour  forth  tales 
most  awful. 

"Many  of  the  writers  on  the  Mormon  cpies- 
tion  have  seen  only  its  bright  side  in  Salt 
Lake  City  and  surroundings.  One  can  only 
get  at  the  reverse  side  by  travelling  south 
among  the  poorer  classes.  Many  a  wretched 
woman  is  sorry  enough  that  she  ever  left  her 
native  land,  but  she  can  never  return. 

'■Some  of  our  Mormon  'brethren'  have 
more  wives  than  they  can  support,  especially 
if  they  happen  to  be  constitutionally  weak. 
So  the  wives  have  to  support  themselves,  and, 
i'    hey  prove  good  liands  at  it,   their  liubbies 


also.  Many  poor  families  in  Utah  live  upon 
i;reen  cern.  melons,  and  Krpuisheg  during  the 
autumn,  while  at  other  tinu's  they  get  along 
the  best  way  Uiey  can.  Sometimes  they  have 
flour  ai.d  corn  meal,  and  sometimes  none. 
Most  of  them  have  cattle,  which  can  graze  on 
'the  range.'  and  therefore  cost  notliing  to 
keep;  so,  however  poor,  if  a  Mormon  lainily 
have  a  cow,  they  get  all  the  sweet  cre:im  and 
fresh  butter  they  want. 


1  he  LiliLriMcle. 

•'Coffee,  tea,  atul  strong  drinks  aie  set  forth 
as  injurious  in  the  Book  of  Mormon,  which  is 
very  convenient  for  those  who  cannot  alTord 
to  buy  anv.  Those  who  can  atVoril  it  disre- 
gard the  ad\iee;  those  who  i  innt)t  gracefully 
accept  the  other  alternative.  I  always  noticed 
one  thing,  though,  in  a  certain  town  where  I 
happened  to  be  once,  viz.,  that  if  anybody 
was  sick,  some  one  wouUl  come  and  beg  or 
l)ny  colTec,  or  tea,  or  sugar  iVom  our  rations, 
as  no  medicines  could  be  found  within  eighty 
miles.  Ai.d  if  any  came  to  our  camp,  they 
would  generally  drink  our  tea  and  coiTee  to 
a  greater  extent  than  any  one  else.  Wine, 
too,  is  made  in  great  quantities  'n  'Dixie,' 
and  sold  or  exchanged  cheaply,  the  result  be- 
ing most  shatneful  drunkenness  of  theyounger 
people  at  certain  periods,  —  the  young  men,  I 
mean.  'Dixie,'  I  would  say,  is  a  name  ap- 
plied to  the  lower  valley  of  the  Virgen  River; 
and  apropos,  I  will  singyou  the  song  'Called 
to  Dixie,'  which  1  have  often  sung  before, 
but  which  will  fit  in  just  here  first  rate:  — 

Once  I  lived  on  Clotton-wraxl, 

And  owm'd  a  httU'  (arm  ; 
But  now  I'm  cnllcil  tii  Dixie, 

U'liicli  Rivcs  me  nincli  .il.irin. 
To  raise  tile  corn  and  cotton 

I  right  .away  must  ro  ; 
The  reason  why  they  called  on  me 
j  I'm  sure  I  do  not  Itnow. 

'  I  yoked  «p  Jim  and  Bolly, 

I  All  for  to  make  a  start 

To  leave  my  house  and  garden, 
Whicli  almost  broke  my  he  xit. 


ar 


iir, 


THE    CAMl'    IN    Tin;    (il   I.Cll. 


We  rolled  anng  quite  ilowly, 

And  oflen  louked  behind  : 
For  the  uiid  .iii'l  nicks  nf  Dixie 

Ke|)t  running  throiiuli  my  nimd 

At  lait  we  reached  the  111. ick  Kidge, 

Where  we  Irtike  our  w.igoii  down ; 
We  couldn't  find  .1  carpenter, 

For  we  were  twenty  niilet  from  town. 
I  cut  a  clumsy  ced.ir  pole 

And  lixt-d  an  awkward  slide  ; 
My  wai;on  ma  so  heavy 

That  litisey  could  not  ride. 

When  Ik'tsey  was  a-walking 

I  told  her  to  take  care  ; 
Rut  all  upon  a  sudden 

She  struck  a  prickly  pear  I 
Then  slie  began  to  blubber  out, 

A*  loi.d  as  she  could  bawl, 
'  O,  if  I  was  back  on  Cotlon-wooJ 

I  would  not  come  at  all !  ' 

At  last  we  reached  the  Sandy, 

Where  we  could  not  budge  at  all : 
Poor  old  Jim  and  Dully 

Degan  to  puff  and  lolL 
I  ripped  and  swore  a  little  bit. 

But  couldn't  make  the  route. 
For  myself  my  team,  and  Betsey, 

Were  alt  of  iii  gi'n  out 

At  lenRtli  we  readied  Washington, 

Where  we  stopped  a  little  while 
To  tee  if  the  April  showers 

Would  make  the  Virgen  smile. 
Dut  O,  we  were  mistaken, 

And  to  we  went  away ; 
For  the  red  hills  of  November 

Look  just  the  same  in  May. 

I  brought  this  old  coat  with  me. 

About  two  ye.trs  ago  ; 
AnJ  where  I'll  get  another 

I'm  sure  I  do  not  know. 
If  Providence  protects  me 

All  from  the  wind  and  wm. 
These  times  me  nor  Betsey 

Never  will  forget. 

My  shirt  was  colored  with  dock-root, 

A  grease-wood  for  a  set ; 
I'm  sure  it  will  all  fade  out 

If  it  once  gets  wet. 
They  say  they  have  foMod  madder. 

And  indigo  so  blue ; 
It  all  turned  out  a  humbug  — 

The  story  was  not  true. 

It  is  so  sad  and  dreary  — 

There's  nothing  here  to  cheer 
Except  prophetic  sermons 

We  very  often  hear. 
They  hand  them  out  by  dozen*, 

Prove  them  by  the  Book. 
I  had  rather  have  six  roastin'  eari, 

And  stay  at  home  and  cook. 

I  liave  had  the  chills  and  fever 

Until  I'm  almost  dead. 
'Twill  be  seven  weeks  next  Sunday 

Since  I  have  tasted  bread. 
C'arrot  tops  and  lucern 

We  have  enough  to  eat. 
I'd  like  to  have  my  diet  changed 

Tc  bu:'£whe?t  cakes  and  ic's: 


My  wagon  went  for  snrclium  se«^  : 

To  gel  a  little  bic.td. 
Poor  old  Jim  and  Holly 

Long  .igo  are  dead. 
None  are  left  but  nie  and  Relsey 

To  hoe  the  cotton  tree. 
Let  Heaven  reward  you,  Dixyilet, 

Wherever  you  may  be. 

"  You  see,  tlien,  that  nil  was  not  lovely  in 
Dixie  in  early  days.  The  composer  of  the 
song  is  now  enjoying  his  old  age  in  Salt  Lake 
City.  Clothing  was  not  as  plentiful  as  il 
might  have  been,  and  I  know  of  one  family 
who  even  now  go  bafefooted  and  in  rags  for 
nine  months  out  of  the  year." 

The  Pirate  then  spoke  of  the  mineral  re- 
sources of  Utah ;  the  mines,  and  the  miners; 
reasons  why  the  Mormons  did  not  early  work 
in  the  mines,  &c.,  all  of  which  I  am  oblis^ed 
to  otnit  for  fear  of  crowding  my  columns. 
Next,  he  told  of  the  industry  of  the  Mormons, 
for  which  I  shall  find  room. 

"The  Saints  are  generally  termed  a  very 
industrious  people.  I  will  adtnit  that  some 
are,  and  again  I  will  admit  that  some  are 
lazier  than  Digger  Indians.  They  are  indus- 
trious, but  not  energetic.  Those  who  are  en- 
dowed with  energy  are  sure  to  be  bishops, 
elders,  first  counsellors,  orsoinethingorother, 
where  they  will  have  the  handling  of  the 
tithing,  and  are  the  corner-stones  of  the 
church. 

"  This  tithing  is  a  sort  of  tax  upon  each  pro- 
ducer, to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  govern- 
ment (i.  e.,  the  church),  and  in  this  case  the 
word  means  a  tenth  part  of  each  family's 
earnings  or  produce.  Thus,  if  a  man  raises 
ten  bushels  of  corn,  he  must  deliver  the  tith- 
ing, or  one  bushel,  to  the  bishop  of  his  town. 
From  the  store  thus  formed  the  bishop  draws, 
to  entertain  any  travellers  who  happen  along, 
as,  he  being  the  head  man  of  the  town,  his  house 
is  as  a  hotel ;  all  strangers  are  directed  to  it, 
as  a  rule,  to  '  put  up.'  Almost  invaiiablyhe 
gets  paid  for  his  services  by  Gentiles,  and  it 
is  not  surprising  that,  betwixt  it  all,  a  bishop 
is  always  the  wealthic-t  man  in  a  town;  and 
without  difficulty  you  can  single  out  his  house 
from  the  others  by  its  greater  proportions, 
finer  finish,  and  better  architecture,  unless 
the  town  happens  to  be  the  residence  of  a 
'  president,*  when  Ais  house  will  be  the  finest. 
So  now,  if  any  of  you  ever  get  into  a  Mor- 
mon town  (as  you  will  soon)  where  there  is 
no  hotel,  steer  for  the  best-looking  house  you 
see,  and  you  will  not  miss  the  bishop's,  where 
you  will  always  find  the  best  to  be  had.  Per- 
haps a  dance  will  be  in  progress  as  you  ride 
•.i7>,  if  it  !•=  a  frontier  gcttlemsni  where  they 


r 


sm 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH. 


»'7 


not  lovely  in 
)08er  of  the 
in  Salt  Lake 
cntiful  as  it 
f  one  family 
]  in  rags  for 

mineral  ra- 
the miners; 
)t  early  work 
!  am  obliijed 
ny  columns. 
ie  Mormons, 

rmed  a  very 
it  that  some 
at  some  are 
ey  are  indus- 
!  who  are  en- 
be  bishops, 
ling  or  other, 
dling  of  the 
;oncs  of    I  lie 

ion  each  pro- 
the  govern- 
this  case  the 
;ach  family's 
a  man  raises 
iver  the  tith- 
of  his  town, 
lishop  draws, 
appcn  along, 
wn,  his  house 
lirect'id  to  it, 
invariably  he 
ntiles,  and  it 
all,  a  bishop 
a  town ;  and 
out  his  house 
proportions, 
dure,  unless 
:sidence  of  a 
be  the  finest. 
:  into  a  Mor- 
here  there  is 
ng  house  you 
shop's,  where 
be  had.  Per- 
is  as  you  ride 
It  where  they 


li 


i 


have  no  large  public  buildings;  though  R-ner- 
nlly  their  fandangoes  are  held  in  the  school- 
houses  and  inccting-houses,  it  being  no  sin, 
as-  dancing  is  a  part  of  the  creed.  I  will  tell 
vou  about  a  dance  [  went  to  one  Christmas 
night.  It  was  held  in  a  little  stone  building, 
which  served  as  school-house  and  meeting- 
house, temple  and  tabernacle,  city  hall  and 
a  rendezvous  for  trading  Navajoes;  it  was  fif- 
teen feet  by  thirty,  in  width  and  length,  and 
>.ome  twenty  feet  high.  It  was  situated  in  one 
corner  of  lui  old  fort  or  stockade;  and  its  four 
windows,  opening  into  the  arena  of  the  fort, 
glowed  with  an  inviting  brilliancy  upon  the 
night  in  question,  when,  after  our  ride  through 
the  chill  wind,  we  galloped  up.  Strains  of  vi- 
olins came  merrily  through  the  cracks;  flitting 
brms  told  that  the  fun  had  already  begun. 
Dismounting,  we  entered. 

"Two  sets  were  all  the  floor  would  allow  in 
action  at  once,  and  they  were  skimming 
around  lively  enough.  All  round  on  seats  sat 
young  ladies  and  youths,  old  ladies  and  old 
gentlemen,  with  intervening  gradations. 
Each  of  us  received  a  number,  on  entering, 
according  to  the  rules;  for  as  but  sixteen  per- 
sons could  occupy  the  floor  at  once,  the  male 
attendants  were  called  up  in  regular  succes- 
sion hy  their  numbers.  You  know  I  am  al- 
ways backward  in  such  dashing  assemblages; 
sol  retired  to  a  corner  to  watch  how  things 
progresscil.  The  room  was  bare,  with  board 
floor  and  i^Iaring  rafters,  while  across  the  lat- 
ter lay  a  row  of  musket-;,  reauy  for  an  emer- 
gency. Darkness  was  dispersed  by  three  tal- 
low candles  stuck  on  boards  against  the  wall, 
a  kerosene  lainp,  and  a  roaring  pine  log  in  a 
huge  fireplace. 

"The  violins  kept  up  a  constant  flow  of 
music,  interspersed  with  —  'Ladies,  change!' 
'Gentlemen,  forward  ! '  and  the  like,  while  the 
dancers,  throwingolTall  formality,  entered  into 
the  spirit  t  f  the  occasion  with  a  vehenieiice 
never  seen  in  a  fashionable  ball-room.  Some 
burly  fellows  would 'come  in  from  without  just 
as  their  numbers  were  called.  The  room  was 
warm.  They  doffed  their  coats  instantly, 
grasped  a  partner  with  a  word  or  two,  and 
away  they  went,  commencing  with  a  bowing 
salute,  varying  and  indescribable. 

"The  fair  damsels,  too!  clad  in  neat  calico, 
ladiant  with  smiles,  their  hair  anointed  with 
delicately  perfumed  pomades  (butter!)  until 
it  resembled  patent-leather,  and  formed  on 
each  temple  an  exquisite  '  beau-catcher,'  with 
red,  vcllow,  blue,  green,  indigo,  orange,  and 
violet  ribbons  fluttering  in  the  local  whFrl- 
wind,  were  simply  gorgeous.  They  sailed 
around  like  nymi>lis  from  fairy  realm." 


Then  the  Pirate  told  us  of  the  farming  fa- 
cilities, the  rivers,  the  lakes,  and  the  moun- 
tains of  Utah,  and  concluded  with  the  follow- 
ing:— 

"About  1869,  Orson  Pratt  invented  what 
they  call  the  Dcseret  Alphabet.  The  Bonk  of 
Mormon  was  printed  in  it,  and  it  was  taught 
in  the  schools,  with  the  view  of  making  it  the 
sole  system  of  the  state.  But  it  proved  too 
much  of  a  problem  for  the  majority  of  the 
brethren,  and  so  it  dropped  into  obscurity, 
and  I  only  obtained  this  volume  through  a 
friend  in  the  ring.  It  is  merely  a  system  of 
phonography,  with  new  signs,  and  as  the  signs 
are  all  very  complicated,  it  cannot  be  written 
without  great  Labor. 

"  With  another  word  I  am  done.  The  Saints 
have  many  faults,  but  they  have  been  dogged 
around  enough  to  compensate.  They  have 
utilized  these  valleys  in  the  tnountains,  which 
would  not  have  been  done  for  years  hence. 
Then  let  us  treat  them  like  friends,  hoping 
that  the  problem  of  the  extermination  of  po- 
lygamy may  be  solved  with  satisfaction  to  all 
—  by  a  new  departure ;  or,  in  other  words,  by 
a  revelation  from  on  high." 

The  Pirate  sat  down.  It  was  agreed  that 
no  remarks  should  be  made;  so  for  a  few 
moments  we  all  sat  staring  blankly  at  the 
glowing  embers,  until  Cap,  starting  up,  said 
he  must  go  and  get  his  wolf. 

The  chronoiTieter  indicated  twelve  o'clock. 
It  was  titne  to  "turn  in;"  so,  after  drawing 
closer  to  the  fire,  to  get  thoroughly  warmed, 
we  were  about  to  retire,  when  the  General 
spoke  of  our  next  lecture. 

"  O,  yes;  who'll  follow  me?"  asked  the 
Pirate. 

"I  will,"  exclaimed  Cap,  as  he  came  into 
the  light  of  the  fire  and  threw  down  the  car- 
cass of  a  wolf.  "I  will.  Subject:  The 
Sliinomos,  or  the  Artists  of  Nature." 

"  Very  good,"  we  said. 

NoTK.  Cotton-wood  is  a  creek  just  soulli  of  S.ilt  Lake. 
Mormons  are  "called"  from  one  settlement  tci  another. 
Virgcn  is  iIk;  F.io  Virgen.  Grease-wood  Is  a  bush  similar  to 
the  s.ige-brush.     Lucern  is  a  species  of  clover. 

A  man  named  Rigdon  attempted  to  become  the  perma- 
nent president  of  the  church,  but  was  defeated  by  itrigham 
Young. 


^JET 


"li- 


iiS 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  GULCH. 


SniNOMOs  AT  Home. 


in 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  GULCH. 

-THE   SHINOMOS,  OK  THE  AB.TISTS 
OP    NATUKE. 

BY  jrSTIN    DALE. 

" /^N'CE  i\\ion  a  time,  my  friends,"  boLjan 
^^  the  Captain,  in  tliat  oiil-rasiiioncd  strain 
wliicli  used  io  give  siicli  a  deep  mvstery  to  our 
childish  fairj  tales,  and  whieh  now  causcti  us 
to  prick  up  o  ir  ears  for  a  lecture  tinned  with 
a  coloring  of  romance;  "ves,  onci>  upon  a 
time,  pos.siblv  long  centuries  ago,  a  far  diller- 
ent  class  of  beings  from  what  we  now  find 
here  inhabited  these  dills  and  mountains, 
and  trod  the  grountl  round  this  very  camp- 
fire,  as  IS  jiroved  by  the  remains  of  their 
houses,  which  we  find  scattered  around,  and 
the  abundance  of  arrow-head  chips  and  broken 
pottery.  These  iic<)i>le  were  called  Siiinomos, 
i.ieaning  'wise  men.' because  they  were  versed, 
to  a  certain  extent,  in  agriculture  and  the  arts. 
They  were  not  as  highly  civilized  as  the  old 
Toltecs  must  have  been,  or  as  the  Aztecs  were  ; 
nevertheless,  tli  y  were  a  remarkable  race, 
and  at  one  time  may  liave  been'  subject  to  the 
Aztec  rule,  though  dwelling  so  far  from  the 
capital.  Their  intercourse,  however,  with  the 
y^.ztecs,  isdoubtl'ul;  for 've  find  their  picture- 
■w.iting  less  systematic,  and   no  traces  of  any 


other  instruments  than  those  which  they  nian- 
ulactured  from  wood  and  stone,  while  the  Az- 
tecs wrought  bronze  ver^-  extensively." 

"  Like  the  latter,  they  have  gone  to  their  last 
resting-place,  leaving  behind  but,  a   remnant, 
who   have    gathered   together  in    the    '  Seven 
,  Ancient  Cities."  and,   wliile  del'ending  them- 
:  selves  again>t  the  attack...  of  enemies,  arc  be- 
coming each  day  less  and    less.     A   few  more 
short  years,    and   the  only   proof   the   tourist 
will  find  of  their  existence  will   be   the  crum- 
bling ruins  of  their  towns,  the   ruined   dwell- 
ings and  towns  jioz'J  scattered  over  the  south- 
west, and  the  mysterious  hieroglyphics  which 
are  inscribed  on  the  rocky  tablets,  proclaiming 
a  wonderlul   tale,  that  silently  petitions  lor  a 
j  translator. 

i       "  Distinctly  I  remember  th.c  first  I  ever  saw 
of  this  jiecnliar  writing.      We  were    camped 
on  the  bank  of  Green  River,  at   the    northern 
extremity  of  the  Uintah  Valley.     Two  or  three 
I  hundred  yards  hack  of  camp  aro^e  a  clifi'  of 
homogeneous    sandstone,   some   two   liundretl 
!  feet  high,  and  upon  its  smooth  base  the  geol- 
i  ogist  discovered  some   figures  utterly   incom- 
prehensible.     Ho  came  to  camp  and   spoke   to 
several  of  us,  saying  that  he  had  made  an  in- 
j  tcrasting  discovery,    anil    if  we   would  l"ollow 
!  hiin  he  wouUl  show  it  to  us.    Leading  the  way 
:  to  the   foot  of  the  clilV,    he   stopped.     It  was 


f 


f 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH. 


U9 


liich  tlu'v  man- 
while  the  Az- 
isivclv." 

mc  to  thcii"  last 
)ut  a  remnant, 
in  the  '  Seven 
lend  in;,'  them- 
lemies,  are  l)e- 
A  few  more 
)of  the  tourist 
I  be  the  crum- 
ruineU  tlwell- 
3ver  the  soulh- 
Ljlyphics  which 
Is,  prochiimiii!^ 
petitions  lor  a 

fir>-t  I  evor  saw 

were    camped 

;   the    northern 

Two  or  three 

.rose  a.  clill'  of 

;   two   luiiulred 

liase  the  j;;'ol- 

ulterlv   ineom- 

)  anil   spoke   to 

ad  made  an  in- 

!   would  follow 

eadinj;  the  way 

jppcd.     It  was 


f 


r 


evening,  and  growing  dusky;  so  at  first  we 
did  not  perceive  the  inscriptions,  but  thouglH 
Stonenian  had  stopped  to  examine  some  di- 
versity of  strata  with  a  geologist's  eye,  and 
would  soon  go  on.  Instead,  he  turned,  and 
emiled  mysteriously.  My  companion  said, 
■  Well  ! '  while  I,  at  the  instant  catciiing  sight 
of  the  carvings,  uttered  an  '  O-o-o-h  !  '  and 
sprang  closer,  with  a  '  Who  do  you  think  could 
have  done  this? ' 

"  Never  having  seen  anything  similar,  we 
were  fascinated.  We  searched  along,  and 
found  others  of  a  like  rude  nature ;  then,  as  the 
darkness  grew  deeper,  our  steps  were  directed 
towards  camp,  there  to  discuss  the  strange 
pictures,  to  determine,  if  possible,  who  had 
been  tl  "?  artists. 

"  Indians  must  have  made  them;  fcr  what 
object  would  a  white  man  have  in  chiselling 
such  stufi"  on  the  rocks?  we  reasoned.  And 
then  came  the  question,  'By  what  Indians 
were  they  made  ? '  This  was  the  Ute's  country  ; 
therefore  it  occurred  to  us  that  i/iey  were  the 
artists.  If  they  could,  they  must  solve  tlie 
riddle;  and  we  resolved  to  button-hole  the 
tirst  red-skin  we  came  across,  and  entreat  him 
to  explain.  Armed  with  a  sketch  and  a  nega- 
tive, there  appeared  but  one  difficulty;  and 
that  was,  no  one  could  speak  or  understand  a 
word  of  Ute,  excejit  Bothwell,  who  had  beer. 
'♦Tut  west '  once  before,  and.  somewhere,  had 
picked  up  the  phrase,  'Anna  nea  Pi  Ute 
inch,  cotch  am  bana,'  which  he  carefully  de- 
fined as  meaning,  '  What  do  you  call  this  in 
Pi  Ute?*  His  right  there  was  none  to  dis- 
pute; so  we  learned  to  speak  the  sentence 
fluently,  and  tried  to  feel  satisfied  that  it  was 
what  we  wanted. 

"  A  sharp  lookout  was  kept  for  more  inscrip- 
tions, and  for  our  interpreter  that  was  to  be. 
He  came  even  sooner  than  was  anticipated; 
for  one  morning,  as  we  were  eating  breakfast 
and  chatting  quietly,  a  shout  warned  us  of 
some  one's  approach,  and  an  Indian,  with  a 
'  How-how,'  rode  into  our  camp.  He  was  be- 
decked with  paint,  and  dressed  in  his  finest 
suit,  at  least  in  a  very  gaudy  array  of  buck- 
skin, red  flannel,  and  beads,  and,  dismount- 
ing, squatted  upon  n  little  knoll,  just  as  though 
he  was  one  of  the  family.  How  many  more 
there  might  be  at  his  heels  we  could  not  tell, 
and,  as  long  as  they  kept  away,  we  did  not  care. 
"  We  offered  our  beaming  savage  some 
breakfast,  which  he  caused  to  vanish  as  though 
he  had  not  had  a  morsel  to  eat  since  the  hour 
he  was  born.  Then  telling  us,  by  means  of 
gestures,  that  he  would  meet  us  farther  down, 
he  jumped  on  his  steed,  and  was  o(T. 


"  After  starting,  we  had  not  gone  far  before 
we  came  upon  his  '  wicky-up  '  (you  know  what 
a  '  wicky-up  '  is  —  a  little  shelter  constructed 
of  boughs)  and  his  family.  The  latter  was 
composed  of  his  squaw,  two  horses,  and  a 
small  dog.  Now,  in  the  midst  of  his  posses- 
sions, was  the  time  to  get  him  to  solve  our 
problem;  and  our  artist  produced  his  sketches. 
Presenting  them  at  the  aboriginal,  he  ex- 
claimed, with  acute  accent,  'Anna  nea  Pi  Ute 
inch,  cotch  am  bana?' 

"The  Indian  took  the  sheets,  gazed  at  the 
little  black  figures  solemnly,  and  muttered 
something  in  his  dialect. 

"•Pshaw I  you  didn't  say  it  right,*  said 
Bothwell.  '  Here,  let  me  talk  to  him.  —  Anna 
nea  i/ic//'  (tapping  the  paper  with  his  finger) 
'  Pi  Ute,  cotch  am  bana?' 

"  Qiiietly  laughing,  the  Indian  said  nothing, 
though  he  must  have  thought  we  were  a  pack 
of  idiots  to  talk  so  nuicli  about  a  bit  of  paper, 
tliat  1.0  him  seemed  but  good  to  wrap  a  '  ciga- 
rito.'  Bothwell  was  nonplussed.  He  walked 
olT  without  a  word.  The  artist  exclaimed,  in 
disgust,  '  Confound  him,  he  don't  know  hi.s 
own  language!"  and,  snatching  the  papers, 
returned  them  to  his  portfolio.  It  was  a  for- 
lorn hope.  Either  the  savage  knew  nothing 
about  tlie  pictures,  or  he  did  not  understand 
us.  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  both 
causes  produced  the  dilRcu'ty,  and  we  left 
him  unceremoniously  to  himself,  his  family, 
and  a  package  of  smoking-tobacco. 

'•Not  until  all  this  passed  did  it  enter  our 
heads  that  the  designs  were  the  work  of  the 
ancient  inhabitants  of  this  region  —  the  Shi- 
nonios.  Ruins  of  their  dwellings,  we  knew, 
were  scattered  throughout  Utah ;  but  as  yet 
we  had  ourselves  seen  none.  We  began  to 
tee  that  no  one  else  w\-'uld  have  placed  the 
writing  on  the  rock;  for,  ii  the  Aztecs  were 
so  proficient  in  picture-wri'.ing  that  they  could, 
in  a  few  moments,  record  passing  events  so 
minutely,  it  would  not  be  strange  that  the 
Shinoinos,  an  allied  tribe,  should  be  guilty 
of  writing  their  history,  or  the  history  of  cer- 
tain "clans,'  upon  the  rocks  near  by  their 
dwellings.  The  Shinomos,  then,  were  the 
artists;  and  we  sailed  on  down  the  great  river, 
ever  alert  for  new  proofs  of  their  habitation. 
These  came  in  succession,  rapidly,  and  at  the 
same  time  grew  more  interesting." 

I  expunge  a  portion  of  the  lecture,  where 
the  Captain  told  about  several  discoveries  of 
little  importance,  such  as  fragments  of  pot- 
tery, Sic. 

"No  new  signs  then  occurred  until  we 
reached  Stillwater  canon,  when,  one  night,  •- 


I2n 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH, 


or  evening,  —  as  the  photographer  was  scram- 
bling among  the  rocks,  he  discovered,  far  up 
the  side  of  the  cliff,  some  funny  little  huts,  built 
between  shelving  rocks.  He  called  down  for 
those  who  had  leisure  to  come  up  and  see  what 
he  had  found.  I,  for  one,  climbed  up  ;  and,  as 
everything  likely  to  prove  Shinomo  began 
to  be  of  all-absorbing  intereft  to  me,  I  was 
delighted. 

"  We  raked  over  the  dry  dust  of  ages,  it 
ni  IV  have  been,  lying  inside  the  huts,  and 
found  various  little  proofs  that  they  had,  at 
some  earlii-r  date,  been  the  homes  of  luitnan 
beings.  The  most  striking  were  a  few  small 
corn-cobs,  dry,  and  almost  as  hard  as  stone. 
These  we  captured  and  carried  down  to  camp, 
when  we  had  sufficiently  ini^pected  the  build- 
ings. The  colonel  had  also  returned  from  a 
tour  of  discovery,  having  found  on  a  flat 
point  near  the  river,  and  some  fifty  feet  above 
it,  the  ruins  of  several  w-ell-deuned  houses. 
Around  these  tlic'  ground  was  strewn  with  the 
fragments  c.  (lottery,  &c.,  showing  that  thev 
must  either  have  lived  here  a  long  time,  or 
been  rrther  rough  with  their  <■///««. 

"Towering  on  all  sides  \  ore  the  almost 
vertical  walls,  rising  about  twelve  hundred 
feet;  and  at  first  sight  ono  would  have  sup- 
posed it  impossible  for  any  one  to  get  out. 
The  colonel,  however,  had  found  an  easy 
path,  in  one  direction,  to  within  three  or  four 
hur.iircd  feet  of  the  top,  when  a  perpendicular 
ledge,  over  twenty  feet  in  height,  caused  them 
to  halt.  At  the  bottom  .of  the  ledge  there  was 
a  narrow  talus,  or  slanting  mass  of  debris. 
Following  this  around,  as  it  afforded  a  firm 
foothold,  and  appeared  strangely  compact. 
they  came  (there  were  two  others  with  him) 
upon  several  dry,  pitch-pine  poles,  braced 
firmly  in  a  crevice.  White  with  age,  they 
had,  doubtless,  in  this  dry  climate,  stood  there 
many  and  many  a  long  year. 

"  Knowing  that  the  pinon  pine  decays  very 
slowly,  and  these  poles  seeming  quite  strong, 
one  of  the  little  party  tested  them  by  climb- 
:r„'  up,  while  the  two  others  bracod  themselves 
below  to  catch  b'm,  if  the  timber  should  give 
way.  Then  twilight  began  to  steal  upon  them, 
and  they  had  to  hasten  down,  first,  however, 
dstirmining  to  follow  the  path  out  on  the 
morrow. 

"  Around  the  camp-fire  ihat  night  wt,  had  a 
good  talk  about  the  Shinomos;  and  the  situ- 
ation was  somewhat  romantic.  As  one  of  the 
boys  observed,  wc  could  almost  feel  the  magic 
prcoccj  of  the  departed  race,  and  see  them 
cultivating  their  little  patches  of  corn,  work- 
ing   diligently   at    their    stone   arrcw-heads, 


knives.  Sec,  or  skipping  from  rock  to  rock  in 
the  ascent  of  the  clitf.  And  in  imagination 
we  saw  something  else.  We  saw  the  brave 
little  clan  hemmed  in  on  all  sides,  and  show- 
ers of  arrows  falling  thick  and  fast  from  the 
verge  of  the  cliff,  black  with  the  enemies  of 
the  Shinomos,  with  the  oppressors  of  the 
'  wise  men.'  These  foes  of  the  mild-natured 
civilians  were  rapidly  driving  them  from  the 
country,  and  appropriating  it  themselves; 
and  now  all  that  are  left  are  the  Moquis.  The 
colonel,  having  spent  som»  time  among  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Seven  Ancient  Cities,  re- 
lated many  curious  things  of  them.  Their 
towns  are  built  on  high  cliffs,  called  '■misac' 
by  the  Spaniards,  in  order  that  they  can  bet- 
ter defend  themselves  and  their  flocks,  and 
afar  off  discern  the  approaching  enemy.  The 
houses  can  be  entered  only  from  the  flat  roofs, 
which  arc  gained  by  long  ladders.  In  case 
of  an  attack,  the  ladders  can  be  drawn  up, 
and  the  town  resolved  into  a  comparatively 
formidable  fortress. 


"  One  town  is  built  on  what  mit;ht  almost 
be  termed  an  island,  accessible  only  by  a  nar- 
row istnmus,  or  causeway,  whose  sides  make 
a  precipitous  plunge  of  several  hundred  feet. 
Upon  the  approach  of  the  enemy,  the  town- 
side  of  this  passage  was  all  that  it  was  necessa- 
ry to  guard  ;  and  there  a  handful  of  men  could 
repel  a  host.  A  small  band  of  Navajoes,  — 
numbering  some  twenty-five,  —  by  making  a 
charge,  once  attempted  to  break  through  this 
barrier,  and  gain  the  heart  of  the  town :  but 
their  bleaching  bones  on  the  rocks  below  are 
ample  testimony  ef  their  success,  and  serve 
as  a  fair  warning  to  future  operators. 

"Their  flocks  of  sheep  were  in  constant 
danger  of  being  driven  off  by  the  Navajoes 
and  the  Apaches;  so  corrals  wre  constructed 
of  stone;  and  upon  the  slightest  warning  the 
shepherds  hurried  the  flocks  up  the  cliffs;  and 


n 


i: 

l; 
i 


' 


"—■"' -^-**'' 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE     GULCII, 


121 


1 


to  rnck  in 
n;ii;;ination 

tlie  brave 
and  show- 
it  from  the 
enemies  of 
nrs  of  the 
ild-natured 
n  from  the 
lemselves; 
iqiiis.  The 
among  the 

Cities,  re- 
!m.  Their 
3d  '  tnisac ' 
;y  can  bet- 
flocks,  and 
leinv.  The 
e  fiat  roofs, 
i.  In  case 
drawn  up, 
riparatively 


i;ht  almost 
y  by  a  nar- 
sides  make 
ndred  feet. 
,  the  town- 
I'as  necessa- 
r  men  could 
lavajoes,  — 
f  making  a 
hrough  this 
town  :  but 
s  below  are 
,  and  serve 
)rs. 

in  constant 
e  Navajoes 
constructed 
earning  the 
!  cliffs;  and 


I 


once  in  the  corrals,  they  were  safe.  Below 
the  towns,  by  means  of  irrigation,  corn,  cot- 
ton, peaches,  and  garden  vegetfibles  are  cul- 
tivated. 

"The  agricultural  work  is  done  almost  en- 
tirelv  by  the  men,  while  the  women  remain 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  liouses,  and  prepare  the 
meals,  weave,  or  do  some  other  light  worl:. 

'•Usually  their  repast  consists  of  a  pot  of 
soup,  from  which  they  help  themselves  in  the 
most  convenient  manner.  As  an  accompani- 
ment, they  have  a  peculiar  bread,  called  '/e- 
kee,'  which  is  made  from  corn  flour,  in  thir. 
sheols,  resembling  somewhat  the  coarse  vari- 
ety of  wrapping-paper,  and  varying  in  color, 
some  being  red,  some  blue,  some  green,  all 
according  to  the  color  of  the  corn  from  which 
it  was  manufactured. 

"The  sheets  are  packed  away,  for  keep'ng, 
in  rolls;  and  these  rolls,  to  the  Moqui'^,  or  the 
Shinomos,  nrc  the  staff  of  lite,  just  as  our 
loaves  of  n'hcaten  bread  are  our  staft". 

"  When  not  otherwise  employed,  the  women 
spend  their  time  at  the  loom.  And  you  think 
it  strange,  no  doubt,  that  such  savages  should 
have  looms;  but  their  loom  does  not  resem- 
ble the  intricate  piece  of  machinery  we  find 
in  our  factories,  for  it  is  but  the  embryo  of 
that.  It  is  merely  a  heavy  frame,  upon  which 
the  foundation-threads  are  stretched,  while 
the  dusky  weaver  dexterously  passes  his  bob- 
bin—  in  the  sh.'ipe  of  a  long  bow— in  and 
out  between  the  threads,  in  the  process  of 
'filling.'  Upon  this  rude  machine  they  con- 
struct some  really  beautiful  blankets,  which 
bring  a  high  price  among  white  traders,  on 
account  of  their  solidity  and  durability.  Many 
of  them  are  so  closely  woven  that  the  hardest 
rain  is  shed  as  from  a  piece  of  sheet  iron. 
And,  after  all,  they  are  more  like  sheet  iron 
than  anything  else  when  they  get  wet,  for 
the  fibres  become  rigid  as  wire. 

"  An  industrious  Moqui  will  sometimes 
spend  months  of  steady  labor  upon  a  single 
blanket,  weaving  an  endless  variety  of  figure 
in  gayly-colored  wool;  and,  when  at  last  it  is 
completed,  he  journeys  into  the  adjacent  land 
of  the  Apaches,  or  the  Navajoes,  or  theCoho- 
ninis,  or  the  Mormons,  and  dispones  of  it  for 
the  small  consideration  of  a  hor^c  or  two. 
Besides  blankets,  they  weave  sashes,  stock- 
ings, garters,  and  similar  articles,  which  they 
trade  profitably  to  other  Indians  when  they 
get  tired  of  tliein. 

"  Their  ceremonies  and  dances  are  impres- 
sive and  interesting;  but  strangers  are  not 
•Iways  allowed  to  witness  them.  Tlicir  re- 
ligious rites  arc  in   keeping  with  the  blratige 


creatures  themselves.  What  se;;ms  almost  id- 
iotic to  a  stranger  is  a  foot-race,  performed 
each  morning  by  certain  individuals  for  about 
an  hour,  around  concentric  large  circles.  An 
Indian,  almqst  uude,  will  come  out,  and  start 
around  the  largest  circle  at  the  top  of  his 
speed,  and  will  keep  up  that  rate  until.the  time 
to  stop,  when  he  retires. 

"Worship  of  idols  is  conducted  in  the  un- 
der-ground temples,  or  kivas.  where  the  holy 
fire  is  kept  burning,  and  where  are  all  their 
records  and  paintings. 

"At  present  these  children  of  Nature  are 
watched  over  by  a  fatherly  Indian  agent  and 
his  son,  who  arc  fast  getting  an  accumi'lation 
of  paltry  dollars  in  that  most  mysterious  man- 
ner so  well  known  to  all  Indian  agents.  These 
guards  of  the  Moquis  effect  their  purpose,  for 
one  way,  after  this  manner:  Large  quantities 
of  cotton  goods,  tin  ware,  boots  and  shoes, 
traps,  axes,  &c.,  are  annually  sent  to  this 
agency  to  be  distributed  amongst  our  aborigi- 
nal citizens.  But  it  happens,  and  perhaps 
quite  luckily  for  their  happiness,  that  they  do 
not  like  boots  and  shoes,  tin  pans,  and  some 
other  things;  consequently,  instead  of  wast- 
ing such  valuables  upon  savages,  the  ingenious 
and  noble-hearted  white  men  have  struck  up 
a  brisk  trade  with  some  of  the  Mormons,  whom 
the  Pirate  told  about;  and  now  each  autumn 
a  well-laden  pack-train  winds  its  way  to  the 
settlements  ot  the  Saints,  conducted  usually 
by  the  church's  agent  for  southern  Indians. 

'•As  government  goods  are  always  better 
and  less  cxpcnsivf  than  any  others,  the  traffic 
is  one  which  pays  heavily  on  the  capital  in- 
vested. But  I  find  that  I  have  wandered  some- 
what from  my  strict  subject;  and  so  I  will  go 
back  to  our  camp  near  the  ruins. 

"  When  the  colonel  had  finished  telling  us 
those  facts  about  the  Seven  Ancient  Cities, 
we  turned  in,  some  to  dream  of  the  rehabita- 
tion  of  the  gulch  by  the  phantoms  of  tlie  wise 
men,  and  some  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  right- 
eous. To  mo  it  seemed  but  a  few  moments 
before  I  awoke  to  find  the  sky  above  faintly 
illuminated  by  the  first  gray  streaks  of  dawn. 
It  was  not  long  before  all  were  up,  and  then 
our  plain  breakfast  was  disposed  of  in  haste, 
for  we  were  anxious  to  give  tiie  gulch  a  thor- 
ough inspection.  Two  or  three  of  us  picked 
our  way  to  the  ledge,  or  table,  whereon  had 
stood  the  Shinomo  hamlets,  and  from  there 
watched  several  others  climb  the  clifF,  and 
help  each  other,  like  pygmies,  up  the  ledge, 
that  to  us  appeared  but  a  stepping-stone.  Then 
they  disappeared  round  a  projection,  and  we 
turned  to  investigate  the  ruins. 


122 


THE     CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH. 


•The  liousc;  were  almost  fjone,  only  one 
liavinf;  walls  of  any  height,  thouj^h  all  vcre 
well  defined  in  form.  This  best-preserved 
house  was  .»bont  twelve  feet  wide,  and  twenty 
feet  long.  How  liigli  it  had  been  it  was  im- 
possible to  estimate,  as  but  six  feet  of  the 
walls  stood;  though  it  is  probable  that  it  was 
but  one  story,  having  been  built  rapidly,  and 
with  danger  lurking  close  at  hand.  We  found 
in  a  narrow  crev  ice  remains  of  a  rude  stair- 
way to  the  river,  built,  most  likely,  to  obtain 
water  for  household  purposes.  The  brightest 
of  tlic  ihaicedonic  chips  and  the  prettiest 
pieces  of  pottery  we  collected,  and  then  sat 
down  in  the  shade  of  the  large  ruin  to  study 
the  silent  home  of  the  departed  race.  Here 
on  tliis  vcrv  spot  the  children  had  sported  in 
tluir  innoteuL-c,  and  made  the  solemn,  silent 
canon  re.-ounil  by  their  merry  laughte.  and 
wild  shoul.i  in  their  musical  hmgu.ige.  The 
fragments  of  pottery,  ground  round,  and 
punched  with  a  hole,  which  we  had  found  ly- 
ing beside  tlie  ruins,  had,  in  all  probability, 
been  f"irmed  by  the  children  as  toys.  They 
had  played  with  Iheni.  and  tossed  them  arounii. 
and  thought  what  wonderful  things  they  had 
made  ;  or  had  pretended  tc  '  keep  house  '  up  un- 
der the  shel.ering  ledges,  ji.st  as  you  may  ha\  e 
done  many  a  time  in  a  pleasanter  locality. 

•■And  below  waved  the  lield  of  yellow  corn, 
sending  aloft  the  music  of  its  rustling  leaves, 
while  the  dark-skinned  harvester  plied  his 
knife  of  stone.  In  the  houses,  the  Oiijer  sex 
were  grintling  corn  to  make  bread,  or  shaking 
the  life  out  of  some  little  brazen-lunged  ras- 
cal, \.ho  had  ventured  too  near  the  edge  of  the 
clirt",  and  risked  timibling  over. 

"All  these  things  passed  vividly  belbre  us, 
and  we  almost  began  to  iin:',g;ne  ourselves  in 
some  foreign  clime,  and  iVil  lor  our  letters 
of  introduction.  Would  tliat  it  could  have 
been  sol  But  no  ;  our  artists,  our  wise  men, 
were  gone.     Where ." 

"The  picture,  relieved   of  its  romance,  was 


rock,  where  it  had,  perhaps,  rested  over  a 
century. 

"It  contained  several  coils  of  willows,  split, 
ready  for  basket-making,  which  were  so  ten- 
der with  age  that  they  snapped  undi-r  the 
slightest  pressure.  Around  one  bundle  was 
tied  a  small  piece  of  cord,  or  rope,  so  rotten 
now  that  it  came  to  pieces  on  being  handled. 
It  was  made  from  reddish-looking  fibres,  anil 
was  well  twisted. 

•'The  pot  itself  was  still  somewhat  black  on 
the  bottom,  iVom  e\posure  to  firo  ;  aiid  we  all 
looked  upc)n  it  as  an  invaluable  relic  —  which 
it  was;  but  it  was  destined  never  to  reach  the 
settlements  in  its  natural  condition,  as,  a  short 
time  after,  it  was  accidenlally  broken  into 
small  |)ieces. 

"The])athout  had  been  an  easy  one.  for 
the  aged  ))oles  had  sustained  the  parly  with- 
out showing  any  signs  of  yielding;  and,  once 
up.  lluy  found  no  more  diiricultie^,  but  went 
out  on  tlie  ])lateau  with  ea>e. 


but  a  gulch  of  the  canon,  nii 


and  desolate. 


The  red  rocks  towered  towards  '.he  sky;  the 
old  farm  was  overgrown  by  dense  willows  ;  the 
houses  were  in  ruins ;  and  the  only  signs  of 
habitation  were  our  cpiiet  camp,  a  half  mile 
away,  and  three  boats  lloat'ng  on  the  glassy 
stream  against  the  bank.  Hunger  began  to 
suggest  a  return  al"ter  awhile;  and,  without 
further  delay,  we  wended  our  way  back  through 
the  willows  to  camp. 

"  The  others  came  in  soon  after,  bringing 
with  them  a  huge  pot  of  earthen  ware,  which 
they  had  found,  quietly  awaiting  a  discov- 
erer,  in  a  nice,  dry  nook   under  a  projecting 


It  might  li.ive  bc.jii  a  puruini  of  .i  Roy.il  Tc;>-set. 

••This  consecrated  spot  was  left  with  re- 
gret, as  we  went  on,  and  we  found  nothing 
more  of  importance  until  Milicrag  TJend  wr^ 
i-eacheil.  Here  wc  found  several  caves  in  a 
detached  clilT.  In  front  of  these  caves  were 
two  or  three  .icrcs  of  soil,  available  for  culti- 
vation, and  the  rare  prize  had  not  escaped  the 
Shinomos.  Selecting  the  caves  for  their 
dwelling-places,  and  the  ground  for  their 
farm,  they  muse  have  lived  in  comparative  se- 
curity, for  a  time,  here  in  the  heart  o(  the 
desert. 

"  Tin  openings  of  the  caves  had  been  walled 
up,  except  an  aperture  answering  for  a  door, 
and  in  one  a  second,  serving  for  a  window. 
The  lloors,  covered  with  a  debris  of  dust, 
sticks,  bones,  and  cactus  spines,  were  eagerly 
overhauled,  in  the  dim  light,  for  relics,  in 
spite  of  the  scorpions  unearthed,  and  the  pain 
I  used  by  once  in  a  while  touching  some  of 
the  cactus  spines.  Nothing  but  a  few  corn- 
cobs, however,  wa  liscovered,  and,  as  it  was 
anything  but  agreeable  in   the  caves,  no  one 


a 


THE     CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH 


123 


Hi 


was  desirous  of  pursuiir^  the  exploration  to 
any  sjreat  extent. 

"  Our  next  discovery  was  still  farther  down. 
We  had  just  left  the  inouth  of  the  Dirty  Devil 
River,  when  one  of  the  boys  espied  an  object 
which  caused  an  exclamation.  We  looked  to- 
wards the  left  bank,  and  there,  upon  a  prom- 
ontory rising  about  two  hundred  feet  above 
the  river,  stood  a  house  —  a  genuine  house 
right  here  in  the  wilderness,  though  seeming- 
ly without  a  roof;  or.  if  it  had  one,  it  was  flat. 
Certainlv  no  one  lived  in  this  desert;  none 
but  an  Indian  would  live  here,  and  he  would 
not  go  to  the  troubleof  building  a  liouse.  The 
conclusion  that  followed  was,  siniply,  Shitio- 
mo!  A  landing  was  instantly  effected,  and 
we  -started  across  a  strip  of  level  soil,  inter- 
vening between  the  cliff  and  the  river,  in 
search  of  a  point  of  ascent.  Immediately  bu- 
neath  that  part  of  the  cliff  upon  which  stood 
the  castle,  the  ijronrid  was  covered  with  the 
usual  accumulation  of  pottery  fragments,  ar- 
row-heads, and  chips  of  clialccdonj'.  One 
piece  of  pottery  I  secured  was  so  artistically 
marked,  and  so  finely  finished,  that  it  might 
have  been  a  portion  of  a  royal  tea-set. 

"To  the  left  was  a  talus,  affording  an  easy 
ascent,  and,  taking  advantage  of  it,  we  stood 
beside  the  ruin  —  for  ruin  it  was  — of  a  house 
so  symmetrical  that  it  would  have  done  jus- 
tice to  a  more  modern  architect,  supplied  with 
improved  instruments.  Three  walls,  some 
fifteen  feet  in  height,  were  still  standing,  and 
of  these  the  corners  were  as  true  and  sharp, 
and  the  walls  themselves  as  straight,  as  plumb- 
line  could  make  them.  Some  kind  of  mortar 
hiid  boon  used,  but  it  must  have  been  merely 
mud-mortar,  for  now  not  a  trace  of  it  could 
be  found. 

"The  point  of  the  cliff  upon  which  it  was 
built  was  formed  of  level  blocks  of  sandstone, 
and  upon  tiles'-,  close  to  the  base  of  the  house, 
were  cut  a  number  of  curious  designs,  while 
the  large,  isolated  rocks  close  by  were  tattooed 
all  over  with  pictures,  highly  praiseworthy 
for  such  humbie  '  artists  of  nature.'  Under 
the  verge  of  the  cliff  ran  a  narrow  bench,  over 
vhich  the  rocks  projected,  so  as  to  form  a  per- 
fect ceiling,  ten  feet  or  more  above  the  rocky 
floor.  This  bench  could  be  gained  only  at 
one  or  two  points  f;om  above,  and  at  but  one 
from  below.  A  series  of  walls  had  been  built, 
dividing  this  natural  hall  into  a  number  of 
dift'erent  houses,  or  compartments,  with  win- 
dows and  connecting  doorways,  while  here 
and  there  were  balconies,  where  the  rocks 
above  did  not  protrude  far  enough  to  form  a 
roof  Many  of  the  walls  had  fallen  down, 
leaving  the  apartments  light  and  airy;  and 


with  ease  we  strolled  alon^,  viewingan  almost 
continuous  panorama  of  inexplicable  draw- 
ings adorning  the  back-rock. 

"  What  a  rare  gallery  of  art  it  was.  this  col- 
lection of  pictures  which  had  waited  so  long 
for  admirers!  And  only  now  its  visitors  had 
come.  Some  of  the  designs  were  chihclied 
out,  and  others  were  executed  in  a  strange 
style  of  coloring,  which  seemed  a  part  of  the 
rock  itself 

'•  Our  artist  copied  them  all,  and  I  have 
drawn  some  on  this  paper  from  memory,  and 
some  from  notes.  .Serpents  and  lizaids  there 
were-  and  bodies  with  heads,  and  bodies  with- 
out heads;  strange  circles,  with  zigzag  lines 
running  through  them;  arrows,  crossed; 
queer-shape''  individuals,  with  their  hands 
clasped  together;  and  fish,  and  mountain 
sheep,  and  I  don't  know  what  all. 

"  This  place  was  almost  as  impressive  as  the 
ruins  above;  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  re- 
lucti.nce  that  we  resumed  our  voyage,  and 
watched  the  home  of  the  artists  till  a  bend  in 
the  river  drew  the  curtain,  and  we  turned  our 
attention  to  the  lookout  for  more.  We  saw 
the  ruins  of  three  or  four  houses  on  the  right ; 
though,  as  they  did  not  appear  very  attractive, 
we  did  not  land;  but  at  evening,  close  to  oui 
camp,  on  some  hills,  were  several  ruins,  rather 
indistinct.  Witliin  a  few  feet  of  the  best-pre- 
served one  was  a  circular  basin,  resembling 
the  sawdust  ring  of  a  circus,  only  it  w  is  but 
about  twenty  feet  in  diameter.  This  the 
colonel  pronounced  a  ruined  kiva;  and  for  a 
while  we  dug  vvith  prodigious  energy,  attempt- 
ing to  strike  thcold,  buried  walls.  Alas  for  our 
fond  hopes  of  discovering  rare  relics  I  Dark- 
ness came  upon  us  too  soon :  and  in  the  morn- 
ing, owing  to  the  low  state  of  our  larder,  we 
were  obliged  to  pull  out,  and  sail  on.  Each 
day  now  brought  iVesh  signs  of  these  ancient 
artists.  Once  some  pottery  of  a  rare  cream- 
color  was  discovered.  Again,  in  a  bide  al- 
cove, was  tbund  a  store-cave,  with  a  very  small 
door,  whose  sides  showed  the  impressions  of 
the  builders'  fingers  in  the  plastci-,  as  though 
made  no  later  than  yesterday." 

Next,  the  Captain  gave  us  a  description  of  a 
peculiar  wall,  supposed  by  the  Mormons  lO  be 
of  Shinomo  origin;  but  geologists  had  pro- 
nounced it  nothing  more  than  a  dislocation 
of  strata.  He  also  told  of  various  out-of-the- 
way  places  where  he  had  found  the  carvings, 
\  much  to  his  astonishment,  and  then  proceeded 
I  with  the  following:  — 

'  "  The  vicinity  of  Mount  Trumbull,  although 
I  rough  and  volcanic,  abounds  with  evidences 
'  of  early  habitation  by  the  Shi  nemos.  Boul- 
I  ders  of  basalt,  as  hard,   almost,  as  iron,  are 


134 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  GULCH. 


I 


found  covered  with  carved  fijjures,  and  the 
tops  of  some  of  the  Unagkaritchets,  or  cinder- 
cones,  abound  in  ruins  and  broken  pottery. 

•'Over  a  lava  bed,  ragged  as  a  nutmei;- 
grater,  imd  which  can  onlv  be  traversed  with 
the  greatest  care,  trails  have  been  built  in  all 
directions.  Hy  following  these,  it  is  easv, 
comparatively  speaking,  to  walk  over  the  lava; 
and  you  would  at  once  notice  the  vast  dilVer- 
ence  between  the  rocks  in  the  trail  and  those 
outside.  A  bit  taken  from  tlie  main  bed  re- 
sembles a  coarse  sponge  in  texture,  but  is  as 
hard  as  flint,  and  very  angular;  a  piece  from 
in  the  trail  is  as  smooth  as  a  cobble-stone. 
How  many,  many  passing  footsteps  it  must 
have  taken,  then,  to  accomplish  all  this!  For 
look  at  an  ordinary  sidewalk,  composed  of 
moderately  soft  Bandstone.  Does  it  not  take 
long  years  for  the  multitude  of  footsteps  to 
make  an  impression.?  The  steady  flowof  wa- 
ter will  in  time  w:ish  away  the  hartlost  rock; 
and  just  so  did  the  tread  of  mocca'-oned  feet 
grind  down  those  fragmentary  rocks  to  peb- 
bles. 

'■  The  quc.-tion  naturally  arising  in  your 
minds  is.  Why  did  they  travel  over  such  rug- 
ged ground.'  And  it  can  only  be  answered  by 
the  supposition  that  their  iozuns  were  built 
upon  the  lava  bed,  to  ofler  the  enemy  a  greater 
disadvantage. 

•■  Near  the  terminus  of  one  of  these  trails 
was  a  little  hollow  in  the  rocks,  which  became 
full  at  even  a  slight  shower  of  rain  ;  and  close 
by  this  water-pocket,  half  buried  beneath  a 
mass  of  lava,  was  discovered  a  human  skele- 
ton. Between  the  mouldering  ribs,  an  Indian 
water-basket,  or  jug.  was  decomposing;  and 
the  whole  presented  a  ghastly  sight  in  such  an 
awful  sepulchre.  The  teeth  were  yet  well  pre- 
served, and  I  obtained  one  of  them  for  a  relic. 
It  was  a  molar,  and  of  a  different  shape  from 
any  I  had  ever  seen  before,  and  yellow  with 
age.  The  skeleton  could  hardly  be  that  of  a 
Shinomo,  for  it  does  not  seem  possible  that  it 
would  last  so  long,  exposed  to  the  snows  of 
the  mountains ;  and  yet  it  may  have  been  the 
last  poor,  wretched  remnant  of  those  who  in- 
habited the  lava  bed,  who  piowled  around 
among  the  dark  rocks,  evading  his  enemies 
successfully,  until  at  last,  perhaps,  his  water- 
ing-place was  discovered.  Then  a  vicious 
brute  ensconces  himself  snugly  behind  a 
screening  rock,  and  patiently  waits  his  time. 
The  moon  breaks  forth  from  a  silvery  prison, 
with  a  cheering  brilliancy,  as  the  poor  Shino- 
mo stoops  to  lill  his  exhausted  j^ig.  Tlie 
twang  ot  a  bow-string  break-  upon  his  ready 
ear;  but  it  is  to;i  lr.'°  for  hipi  to  escape.  The 
tearing     arrow     pie.-ccs     him     through     and 


through.  With  a  yell  of  defiance  he  starts  up 
to  fall  quii'ering  upon  the  cold  rocks,  as  the 
moon,  seemingly  horrified,  draws  again  its 
dark  curtain.  A  pitiless  smile  plays  about 
the  mouth  of  the  assassin,  as  he  rolls  over  the 
corpse,  and  withdraws  the  arrow.  Then,  to 
finish  his  work,  he  detaches  the  mass  of  black 
hair,  crashes  several  large  rocks  upon  the 
bod)',  and  disajipears  in  the  direction  of  a  dis- 
tant fire. 

"  That  is  a  picture  of  Indian  warfare,  wheth- 
er the  victim  be  Shinomo  or  Caucasian. 

"The  lava  bed  was  estimated  to  be  about 
three  hundred  years  old.  So  the  Shinomos 
who  lived  there  must  have  passed  from  exist- 
ence somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  ^-cars  ago,  as  no  tradition 
of  them  can  be  obtained  from  any  of  the  pres- 
ent Indians.  They  were  exterminated  by  the 
advance-guard  of  the  great  Ute  familj',  just 
as  the  Utes  in  their  turn  are  giving  way  to  the 
present  generation." 

Continuing,  the  Captain  gave  us  a  lengthy 
theory  of  the  origin  of  the  races  of  America, 
whicl.  I  cannot  repeat,  but  wilt  give  you  his 
closing  words. 

"Thus,  all  through  iliis  south-western 
country,  you  find  signs  of  civilization,  pre- 
historic; and  the  farther  south  3'ou  journej', 
the  more  massive  are  the  ruins  of  habitations, 
and  the  more  perfect  arc  the  works  of  art, 
until  you  reach  the  ruins,  so  grand  and 
majestic,  in  Cent.'al  America;  the  remains  of 
great  cities,  constructed,  abandoned,  and  dis- 
integrated long  before  the  proud  Aztec  Mon- 
tezuma ruled  his  vast  empire,  and  long:  even, 
bel'ore  that  empire  existed. 

''And  now,  gentlemen,  having  told  you 
about  all  I  know  of  the  Shinomos,  the  wise 
men,  and  NatLi.-e's  rude  artists,  I  will  say  no 
more,  leaving  you  to  ponder  the  subject  to 
your  hearts'  content." 

The  long,  dismal  howl  of  a  coyote  rose 
through  the  silence  of  the  vlley,  becoming 
faint  in  the  distance  as  the  Captain  sat  down. 

"An  appropriate  'ainen,'"'  .  .narked  the 
General. 

Then  a  consultation  was  held  to  see  who 
should  deliver  the  next  lecture,  and,  unac- 
countiibly,  it  again  fell  to  the  Captain.  Re- 
luctantly he  agreed  to  entitle  his  lecture 
"The  Unknown  River,  or  Old  Father  Time's 
Masterpiece." 

Note.  A,  in  Indi.™  words,  gencrri!!)'  has  the  Italian 
sound.  Kiva  is  pronounced  ktva  ;  Shinomo,  Shet-no-mo ; 
Moqiiis,  Alokees ;  Nav.ijo,  Navaho ;  Ap.icne.  A-fiatch-tl 
Cdhonini,  Co  he-ne  itc ;  Wicky-i'ps  is  probaUy  contracted 
from  viickfr-up^. 


THT'     CAMP    I\     THE     GULCH. 


MS 


I 


* 


Tllli    briiliKs.MA.N    iLIMMNi;    TO    A    RlNG    IN    THE    SXEKN. 


THE  OAMP  IN  THE  GULOH. 

IV. -THE    UNKNOWN    RIVEH.   OB    OLD 
FATHER  TIMES  MASTERPIECE. 

UY  JUSTIN    DALE. 

GENTLE  reader,  the  subject  for  the  lecture 
this  evening  was  not  new  to  us.  How- 
ever, the  Captain  proposed  to  present  it  in  a 
form  as  attractive  as  possible;  and  the  topic 
would  bear  much  fresh  iiandiing:  in  fact,  we 
never  were  tired  of  re-discussing  the  wonder- 
ful river,  and  of  hearing  the  Captain  rehearse 
some  of  his  thrilling  experiences;  therefore 
we  preparcii  .o  listen  to-night  to  a  discourse 
of  comsiderable  interest  on  the  unknown  river, 
the  Rio  Colorado  Grande  of  the  Spaniards, 
and  the  Americans'  Colorado  River  of  the 
West,  which  so  long  in  solitude  had  wrestled 
with  the  hard  rocks  obstructing  its  pathway 
to  the  bosom  of  old  Ocean,  ci.cered  on  by  its 
own  eternal  thunder. 

The  interest,  too,  was  heiglitened  by  o.ir 
being  so  near  to  Marble  Canon,  one  of  tha 
deepest  and  grandest  chasms  c/f  the  whole  col- 
lection. We  had  gazed  from  eminences, 
through  the  blue  haze,  at  its  narrow  top,  and 
often  wondered  how  the  interior  looked;  won- 
dered if  the  same  clear  sunshine  that  bathed 
the  rocks  of  the  gulch  ever  nenetrated  to  its 


mystic  depths,  scarcely  believing  the  Captain 
when  he  answered  in  the  allirniative. 

Qiiietly  our  lecturer  began  as  follows  :  — 

'•  Far   aw.\y  in    the   north,  among  the  wild 

gulches  of  the  Wind  River  Mountains,  several 

rivers  rise,  and,  swelled  by  additional  streams, 

become   irresistible   torrents.      One   of  .these 

streams,    the    Snake    River,    plunges    rapidly 

down,  and  settles  in  the  channel  of  the  great 

Columbia.     Another,   rising  but  a  short  dis- 

I  tance  away,  is  Green  River.     Its  emerald  wa- 

'  ters  tumble  down  in  numerous  rapids,  through 

small    canons,    foretelling,    with   an    ominous 

murmur,   the    terrible  struggle  to    take   place 

below.     Two  or  three  hundred  miles  are  thus 

1  passed,  when  a  high  barrier  is  found.    Tearing 

I  through   this,  its  fate  is  sealed.     It  begins  al- 

I  most  at  once  its    headlong  race  to  the  sea, 

i  hundreds  of  miles  away,  and  six  thousand  feet 

'  below,  and  stops  not  until,  mingled  with  oth- 

j  er  waters,  it  unites  with  the  briny  tluid  of  tl.3 

j  Gulf  of  California. 

I      "This  is  the  Unknown  River,  and  its  course 
■  is  marked  by  a  deep  gash   on   the  surface  of 
our  globe.     But  through  this  channel  so  deep 
it  has  not  alw.iys  run  so  furiously.     In  the  be- 
ginning—  so  long  ago  thill  no  man  can  com- 
I  pute    it  —  the  foaming   torrent  was  a  broad, 
i  placid  stream,  meandering  among  the  hillocks 
and   flowing   through   great  quiet    lakes    to- 


136 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  GULCH. 


wards  Rn  abrupt  coast,  where  it  poured  off 
into  the  sea.  Slowly  the  surging  waters  un- 
dermined the  foundation-rock  of  the  cascade, 
and  the  top  was  crushed  in,  or,  rather,  broken 
off,  thus  causing  the  cascade  to  take  a  step 
backward,  and  leaving  an  alcove,  or  bay,  sur- 
rounded by  high  walls. 

"The  pent-up  surge  gnawed  steadily  at  the 
foot  of  the  fall,  and  again  it  gave  way,  taking 
a  i<econd  step  inland.  And  in  this  manner, 
simitar  to  the  retrograde  movement  of  Niaga- 
ra, the  mighty  fall  steadily  backed  up  into  the 
plateau,  and  as  steadily  became  shorter,  for  at 
each  successive  breaking  back,  the  bottom  of 
the  gorge  was  filled  up  with  the  debris,  mak- 
ing it  a  little  higher  than  that  farther  down; 
consequently  the  water  did  not  have  quite  so 
far  to  fall.  The  struggle  continued  in  this 
way  till  the  fall  either  disappeared  in  softer 
rock,  or  could  make  no  plunge,  the  bottom 
having  risen  to  the  top. 

"  At  the  same  time,  however,  erosion  of  the 
surrounding  country  was  being  carried  on  by 
heavy  rainfalls  following  each  other  in  rapid 
succession.  Ridges  and  mountain  ranges  were 
formed,  and  the  drainage  of  the  surface  was 
changed  into  many  directions  by  the  sudden 
emptying  of  the  pools  or  lakes,  as  the  river 
wore  its  deep  gorge  northward.  Some  of  these 
ridges  and  mountains  were  at  right  angles 
with  the  course  of  the  stream;  and  to  an  ob- 
server thtn,  the  canon  through  them  would 
have  seemed  to  have  been  cut  a/?«r  the  ranges 
were  formed,  causing  greai  perplexity. 

"  By  the  time  the  river  had  ceased  to  have  a 
vertical  fall,  the  country  was  well  diversified 
by  high  mountains  and  deep  caiions,  and  the 
river  itself  was  hemmed  in  by  walls  rising 
tnaiiy  thousand  feet.  The  rain  then  was  not 
bo  evenly  distributed,  for  the  higher  portions 
condensed  the  clouds  before  they  arrived  over 
the  lower;  and  the  result  was,  that  some  parts 
htd  rains  only  at  comparatively  long  inter- 
vals. 

"The  tributary  streams  by  this  time  had  as- 
sumed definite  courses,  and  were  attempting 
to  gain  the  river  level  in  the  way  that  the 
r.ver  had  tried  to  gain  the  level  of  the  ocean, 
namely,  by  plunging  over  the  abrupt  walls  in 
cascades. 

"  Their  caiions  soon  resembled  th.it  of  the 
river;  though,  owing  to  the  unequal  distribu- 
tion of  rain,  some  were  at  times  dry,  leaving 
the  disintegration  entirely  to  the  frost  and 
wind,  witich  accomplished  their  work  much 
•lower  than  water. 

"  The  surface  of  the  country  was,  in  this 
way,  ground  down  to  its  present  configuration. 


We  now  have  the  river,  at  its  head,  about 
seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea  level,  with 
a  descent  rapid  or  gradual,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  strata  through  which  it  flows. 
The  walls  are  low,  when  compared  with  the 
original;  and  in  the  lateral  caiions  can  bd 
found  specimens  of  the  immense  leaps  which 
the  water  made  to  reach  the  river.  For  in- 
stance :  suppose  you  were  travelling  beside  a 
caiion.  You  come  to  an  impassable  branch. 
To  avoid  it,  you  head  it ;  that  is,  you  follow 
it  up  until  you  find  the  higliest  point  to  which 
the  vertical  plunge  has  receded,  and  then  you 
can  easily  go  around. 

"  A  good  illustration  of  the  formation  ol 
caiions  is  found  in  a  mud  ravine.  Take,  for 
example,  a  level  bottom,  with  a  creek  quietly 
wending  its  way  downwards  through  shal- 
lows and  pools.  As  you  follow  it  along,  your 
ear  suddenly  catches  the  sound  of  falling  wa- 
ter, and  in  a  few  moments  you  are  standing 
on  the  brink  of  a  miniature  Niagara.  V'ith  a 
quick  plunge  the  creek  pours  over  into  a  per- 
fect canon,  cut  through  the  hard  soil.  You 
wonder  at  first  why  the  creek  should  '  caiion  ' 
so  suddenly  at  this  particular  spot,  as  the  soil 
is  evidently  no  difTerentfrom  the  surrounding. 
But,  while  3'ou  stand  and  wonder,  you  hear  a 
splash.  Upon  closer  examination,  you  find 
that  fragments  of  the  edge,  undermined  by 
the  surge  below,  are  at  intervals  dropping  off, 
and  the  cascade  is  receding  towards  the  high 
ground.  It  will  keep  on  receding  until  it 
reaches  sandy  ground,  when  the  water  will 
sweep  through  without  a  fall.  You  follow  on, 
and  find,  after  a  short  distance,  that  the  caiion 
is  growing  wider,  and  in  some  places  there  is 
no  wall  at  all. 

"Three  great  causes  combine  to  produce  this 
change  —  water,  frost,  and  wind.  Frost  and 
wind  break  off  masses  of  the  verge,  which  fall 
into  the  stream,  and  direct  its  course  against 
the  opposite  bank.  This  it  undermines,  and 
the  top,  falling  in,  turns  the  tide  back  again, 
and  vice  versa.  Consequently  it  is  readily 
seen  that  the  reason  the  gorge  is  represented 
still  farther  down  only  by  a  hollow,  or  val- 
ley, is  because  there  is  where  Time  has  had 
the  best  chance,  and  has  levelled  the  country 
down  from  its  primitive  condition,  to  make 
it  habitable  for  man  and  beast. 

"  And  so  it  is  with  the  rivers  of  the  world. 
Those  now  navigable,  and  surrounded  by  fer- 
tile valleys,  have  passed  through  the  ordeal, 
while  those  like  the  Colorado  of  the  West  are 
far  from  being  completed.  The  Lower  Colo- 
rado is  slowly  transforming;  but  before  it  is 
perfect,  erosion  will  have  to  gnaw  dexterous- 


T 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH. 


i^: 


Ij-  at  the  Sierra  Xevaila,  the  Wasatch,  and  the 
Rocky  Mountain  ranges. 

"  As  I  have  now  hinted  at  the  manner  in 
whicli  tlie  urcat  canons  were  formed,  I  will 
now  proceed  to  tell  you  somethinj;  of  tlie  |)i- 
oneers  wlio  descended  them.  The  first  party 
was  conducted  by  a  gentleman  as  a  private 
venture.  The  second  was  a  regular  survey 
party,  led  by  the  same  gentleman,  under  di- 
rection of  the  government.  Their  boats  were 
launched  at  the  railway  crossing  of  Green 
River,  and  from  there  the  three  little  craft, 
manned  by  ten  men,  sailed  down  the  Unknown 
River  into  the  heart  of  the  mystery. 

"For  a  while  all  was  very  {\nL\  till  the  river 
cut  through  the  ridge  in  the  canon  of  Flaming 
Gorge.  Then  the  rapids  began  to  appear, 
few  and  in.signilicant  at  first;  but,  upon  enter- 
ing Red  River  Canon,  their  proportions  in- 
creased, and  work  became  lively.  Flaming 
Gorge  had  been  tlie  gate- way  to  the  depths 
that,  it  was  said,  no  man  could  trace  and  come 
out  alive.  It  was  predicted  that  our  boats 
would  never  fioat  in  Brown's  Park,  at  the  foot 
of  Red  River  Canon;  but  we  |)assed  success- 
fuUv  into  the  beautiful  valley,  and  sailed  on 
into  the  gates  of  Lodore,  so  majestic,  so  sub- 
lime ! 

"The  dark  walls  had  hardly  closed  around 
us  before  the  music  of  turbulent  water  came 
to  our  anxious  ears.  Eight  days'  hard  labor, 
and  the  fourteen  miles,  with  their  Disaster 
Falls,  Triplet  Falls,  Bowlder  Falls,  Hell's  Half 
Mile,  and  what  not.  were  passed,  and  we  were 
eight  hundred  feet  nearer  the  sea  level.  Pass- 
ing the  mouth  of  Yampah  River,  we  tumbled 
on  through  Whirlpool  Caiion,  Island  Park. 
Split-Mountain  Canon,  and  the  Uintah  Valley. 

"  A  fresh  interest  was  added  to  the  voyage 
by  the  discovery  of  the  picture-writing  on  the 
rocks.  Next  we  had  the  Caiion  of  Desolation, 
t.irough  which  the  river  makes  a  troubled  and 
rapid  descent.  Then  through  Gray  Canon  to 
Castle  Valley —  a  short  break  in  the  regular- 
ity of  the  walls,  and  the  place  where  Captain 
Gunnison  crossed  the  Green,  in  his  famous 
trip  through  the  West. 

"  Labyrinth  and  Still-water  Canons  came 
in  quick  succession;  and  at  the  foot  of  the  lat- 
ter was  the  junction  witli  the  Grand  River. 
For  the  first  time  our  eyes  rested  on  the  Rio 
Colorado  Grande,  as  it  started  on  its  way 
through  Cataract  Canon.  This  caiion  proved 
true  to  its  name.  Cataracts  came  thick  and 
fast,  and  it  was  only  with  extreme  difficulty 
that  '.,e  could  get  over  them.  I  can  never  for- 
get one  incident,  probably  on  account  of  its 
weirdness. 


'■  Rations  were  getting  scarce,  and  navigation 
had  to  be  carried  on  until  very  late.  The  time 
I  >ipeak  of  we  came  late  to  what  appeared  a 
verv  bad  jiart  of  the  canon.  The  walls  rose 
vertically  from  the  water's  edge  to  a  great 
height,  before  they  broke  back  a  little,  to  go  on 
up  to  three  thoiisai\d  feet.  Our  commander- 
in-chief  reconnoitred  a  little  before  starting 
on.  When  we  ran  a  small  shoot,  ami  pre- 
pared for  the  rest,  the  caiion  was  growing 
duskv.  lending  an  impressive  solemnity  to  the 
occasion.  Louder  the  roar  of  water  grew, 
and  at  a  glance  we  saw  the  livei  divided  upon 
a  rocky  island,  and  lashed  to  foam  against  the 
citVs  on  each  side. 

"  Keeping  in  the  line  of  the  dividing  water, 
we  ran  aground  on  the  heail  ol  the  small  island, 
and,  leaping  ashore,  held  our  craft  fast,  until 
the  two  other  boats  could  perform  the  same 
feat.  They  did  it  successfully,  though  the  last 
one  came  very  near  going  over  unceremoni- 
ou^lv. 


Our  port  curs  li.ul  to  he  h.islily  unshipped. 


'•  So  far  it  was  all  right.  One  at  a  time,  then, 
the  boats  were  manteuvred  down  on  the  right 
hand  side,  to  a  sort  of  middle  stage  to  the 
rapid.  Getting  on  board  our  boat,  we  cast 
oft',  and  pulled  with  all  our  strength  straight 
across  the  •  tail '  of  the  rapid,  to  keep  from 
being  dashed  against  the  left  hand  wall,  for 
which  all  the  current  set  with  unswerving 
course. 

'•  All  was  cleared  safely,  though  our  boat 
swept  so  close  to  the  pointed  rocks  that  oi'.r 
port  oars  had  to  be  hastily  unshipped.  The 
other  boats  came  through  in  as  good  a  con- 
ilition ;  and  it  was  time.  Darkness  settled 
rapidly  in  the  canon,  and  the  clouds  above, 
which  had  been  flaming  with  the  sunset  rays, 
died  down  to  a  sombre  gray.  Our  boats  drift- 
ed on  down  the  narrow  gorge,  till  we  were 
aroused  by  a  loud  roar,  that  sounded  ominous 
in  the  gloom.     We  ran  in,  and  made  a  camp. 


I2J> 


THE    CAMP    IN    TllK    GULCH. 


I 


"  The  scene  at  the  island,  I  believe,  was  as 
awe-inspiring  as  any  I  ever  beheld.  With  the 
dying  radiance  of  the  skv,  and  the  increasing 
darkness  of  the  caiion,  it  deemed  that  the  world 
was  closing  round  us,  an  awful  tomb,  and  one 
strained  his  eyes  longingly  to  catch  the  last 
flickering  ray  of  sunlight  gilancing  across  the 
dizzy  brikik  above.  But,  to  dispel  our  sad- 
ness, after  a  whirling  rain-Ntorin,  that  cheer- 
ful satellite,  the  moon,  came  sailing  slowly 
and  grandly  through  the  broken  clouds,  up 
behind  a  forest  of  tall  pinnacles,  showering 
its  dazzling  rays  upon  the  grt. at,  cold  walls, 
and  holding  every  man  spell-bound  till  it 
soured  above  the  towers,  and  stood  sternly 
against  the  dark-blue  sky. 

"  A  day  or  two  after,  we  ran  up  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Dirty  Devil  River.  You  smile,  and 
think  the  title  not  very  euphonious.  I  agree 
with  you;  but  that  is  its  name,  and  we  must 
get  used  to  it.  Here  began  Mound  Canon. 
Its  walls  were  sharp,  but  not  averaging  more 
than  twelve  hundred  feet  in  height.  The 
river  flowed  smoothly,  and  we  sailed  past  the 
mouth  of  the  Rio  San  Juan,  with  ilry  decks, 
into  Monument  Carion,  past  the  solitary  Na- 
vajo Mountain,  to  El  Vado  de  los  Padres 
(The  Crossing  of  the  FatherE).  This  was  so 
named  from  the  fact  that  Escalante  crossed 
the  river  at  this  point,  with  a  band  of  priests, 
in  1776 ;  and  it  is  a  somewhat  ren  rkable  ford. 
The  walls  are  low,  and  in  the  autumn  the  wa- 
ter is  shallow, —  these  being  about  as  favora- 
ble conditions  ae  you  can  find  on  the  Colo- 
rado. Entering  the  river  over  the  rounded 
bluff,  Escalante  had  picked  out  a  path  diago- 
nally over  the  shoals,  to  a  small  caiion  on  the 
other  side,  which  afforded  an  exit.  But  it  was 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more  above  the  point 
of  entering,  and  in  some  places  horses  would 
be  nearly  corried  off  their  feet  by  the  cur- 
rent, and  in  others  would  have  to  swim  a  dis- 
tance. So  you  can  conclude  that,  although 
from  that  tir.;^  until  within  a  few  years  the 
Crossing  of  the  Fathers,  or  '  Ute  Ford,'  has 
been  the  only  practicable  point  of  crossing, 
yet  it  was  not  child's  play.  Another  cross- 
ing was  found  to  be  feasibl;  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Pa  Ria  River,  thirty  miles  farther  down. 
Taking  advantage  of  this,  the  Mormons  have 
built  a  ferry  boat  there,  as  you  kno'v,  and 
have  blasted  the  outlet  canon  at  the  '  cross- 
ing'full  of  rocks,  so  that  bands  of  raiding 
Navajoes  cannot  cross. 

"  Opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Pa  Ria  is  the 
Echo  Peak,  which  I  cannot  pass  by  without 
a  word.  It  is  twenty-four  hundred  feet  above 
the  river  level,  and  gives  a  remarkable  echo  — 


the  derivation  of  its  name.  A  pistol-shot  will 
die  away,  and  aftor  an  interval  r>f  twenty-four 
seconds  will  be  heard  crashing  amongst  cliffs, 
many  miles  away,  like  distant  artillery  fire." 
(The  cliffs  could  not  have  been  more  than 
four  and  a  half  miles  away,  for  sound  only 
travels  one  thousand  and  ninety  feet  a  second. 
Allowing  twenty  seconds  for  the  shot  to  die 
away,  would  give  us  a  total  of  forty-lour  sec- 
onds before  the  echo  returned;  or,  the  s(<und 
had  travelled  47,960  feet;  a  little  over  nine 
miles.  The  reflecting  surface  must,  then,  be 
half  this  distance,  or  four  and  a  half  miles 
away.  — J.  D.) 

"  Besides  the  echo,  frorn  this  peak  can  be 
obtained  an  entrancing  view.  Broken  cliffs 
are  on  every  hand,  with  high  mountains  in  the 
background,  while  on  the  south,  stretching 
away  into  the  endless  plateau,  is  Marble 
Caiion,  its  dark,  zigzag  course,  with  the  later- 
al cafions,  appearing  like  a  writhing  serpent. 
At  your  feet  is  the  river,  bounded  by  walls 
only  twenty  or  tliirty  feet  high,  wlult  in  the 
distance  nc  thing  can  be  seen  but  the  narrow 
crevice.  The  river  has  sunk  into  the  bowels 
of  the  earth. 

"  At  this  point  we  abandoned  one  boat  as 
unseaworthy;  and  it  was  not  long  before  we 
sailed  on  into  'the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death,'  I  might  almost  say;  for  three  of  the 
only  band  who  had  before  traversed  it  never 
again  saw  civilization.  They  did  not  lose 
their  lives  in  the  caiion,  it  is  true,  but  still  in 
close  connection  with  it.  It  was  in  this  way: 
The  work  had  been  exceedingly  dangerous  for 
a  long  time,  when  the  river  became  smoother, 
and  prospects  were  more  hopeful.  At  th's 
their  hearts  lightened.  But  the  lightness  \  as 
destined  to  be  short-lived;  for  one  day  the 
harbinger  of  danger — granite  —  again  came 
to  the  surface ;  and  following  close  upon  its 
appearance  was  a  rapid,  which,  in  the  language 
of  one  of  the  party,  '  was  enough  to  balk  any 
man.'  They  found  that  there  was  only  one 
way  to  get  over  it,  and  that  was  to  '  screw  their 
courage  to  the  sticking-point,'  and  boldly  face 
the  music.  Two  boats  went  over  in  safety. 
The  crew  of  the  third,  consisting  of  three 
men,  backed  out,  fearing  something  worse 
below;  and,  abandoning  their  boat  and  the 
others  to  their  fate,  they  sought  a  point  where 
they  managed  to  gain  the  surface  once  more, 
and  struck  out  for  the  nearest  settlement.  Evil 
eyes  followed  their  footsteps.  As  they  were 
quenching  their  thirst  at  a  water-pocket,  they 
were  struck  down  by  the  missiles  of  ambushed 
savages. 

"  The    party  soon    completed    their   voy- 


1^9 


'THE     C  A  M  1'     I  N     T  1 1  i;     C,  U  L  C  1 1 . 


129 


>I-sliot  will 
wenty-four 
mgst  clitTs, 
llery  fire." 
more  than 
lound  only 
t  a  second, 
hot  to  die 
;y-l'our  see- 
the sc'und 
over  nine 
st,  then,  be 
half  mites 

L'alc  can  be 
roken  cliffs 
tains  in  the 
stretching 
is  Marble 
h  the  later- 
ig  serpent, 
d  by  walls 
lulk  in  the 
the  narrow 
the  bowels 

ne  boat  as 
:  before  we 
Shadow  of 
hree  of  the 
:d  it  never 
d  not  lose 
but  still  in 
1  this  way : 
ngerous  for 
;  smoother, 
1.  At  this 
{htness  \  as 
ne  day  the 
ugain  came 
>e  upon  its 
he  l.inguage 
to  balk  any 
,s  only  one 
'  screw  their 
I  boldly  face 
r  in  safety. 
ig  of  three 
hing  worse 
}at  and  the 
point  where 
once  more, 
ment.  Evil 
s  they  were 
pocket,  they 
if  ambushed 

their   voy- 


age in  safety,  ami  returned  ti)  more  I'avoraljlc 
clinics.  Still  tlicy  woluKmciI  liow  their  old 
companions  had  fared;  aiul  il  was  only  wliiii 
their  late  was  tolil  in  llu'  settlement  by  a  iVieiid- 
Iv  Indian  that  the  matter  was  definitely  set-  j 
tied. 

"Their  only  monument  is  in  the  Temple 
of  Music,  a  dome-shaped  alcove,  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Rio  .San  Juan,  where,  in  the  soft 
sandstone,  they  had  carved  their  names.  Upon 
this  recording  tablet  we,  too,  inscrihed  our 
names,  that,  tliouyh  we  mitjlit  be  maiii^'led  in 
the  seething  liver,  or  slaughtered  in  some 
mouulain-guli  11,  we  might  have  the  consola- 
tion of  leaving  a  mausoleum  behiiul. 

'•  Into  the  jaws  of  the  chasm,  growing  deep- 
er and  deeper  at  every  stroke,  we  sailed,  listen- 
ing lor  the  liist  sound  of  angry  waters.  For 
a  short  ilistaiice  the  boats  j^lideil  smoothly 
and  swiftly  on;  the  faiitastically-blia|)ed  walls 
flitted  by  in  a  pleasing  panoraiiui.  Ten  miles 
had  scarcely  thus  beer,  lel'l  behind,  when  the 
river  narrowed  Irom  four  luiiuhcd  to  about 
three  hundred  feet,  anil  plunged  down  the 
gorge  in  earnest.  Following  each  other  thick 
and  last  ':ame  exhilarating  runs  and  hard 
portages.  Ail  day  long,  as  in  the  cafions 
above,  we  were  drenched  to  the  skin.  Some- 
times the  boats  would  stand  up  on  the  huge 
waves  composing  the  tail  o(  a  rapid,  until 
they  felt  ready  to  topple  over  backwards,  or 
would  graze  a  ragged  rock  hiding  beneath  a 
mass  of  foam,  »o  quickly  that  we  only  realized 
the  danger  when  it  was  passed. 

"  A  thousand  feet  of  marble  was  soon  run 
up,  and,  added  to  the  rest,  made  the  walls 
about  three  thousand  live  hundred  feet  high. 
This  marble  was  ot  all  colors  ;  not  vai  legated, 
but  you  could  find  ledges  of  almost  any  color 
you  wished.  In  some  places  it  was  eroded 
into  infinite  varieties  of  castles,  fortresses,  and 
everything;  else  you  pleased  to  imagine.  But 
the  whole  surface  was  generally  turned  to  a 
dreary  red  by  the  iron  disintegrating  from  the 
red  sandstones  above;  so  that,  although  mar- 
ble, its  resemblance  to  quarried  marble  was 
slight.  After  a  short  distance,  other  rocks, 
coming  up  from  below,  elevated  it  above  our 
heads;  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  Colorado 
Chiquito,  the  total  height  of  the  walls  was 
about  four  thousand  feet. 

"  At  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Colorado,  a 
peculiar  conglomerate  was  observed  covering 
portions  of  the  cai'ion  wall  to  about  five  hun- 
dred feet  above  tlie  river.  It  was  then  unac- 
countable; but  subsequently  we  discovered 
that  It  had  been  formed  in  this  way:  Farther 
down  the  river  an  overflow  of  l-iva  from  a  vol- 


i  ano  nerr  by  had  occurred,  damming  up  the 
canon  as  manv  hundred  feet  as  lIic  height  of 
the  conijlonierale  on  projeitions  of  the  walls, 
or  ll\e  hundreil  feet  jilus  the  amount  of  de- 
scent between  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Colo- 
rado and  the  point  of  obstruction.  The  water 
then  rose  to  the  hciiiht  of  the  ilam  ;  ami  it  was 
many  long  ages  before  the  barrier  was  cut 
away,  and  the  river  again  tlowed  at  its  old 
level.  During  this  lime  a  deposit  of  sediment 
was  taking  place  in  the  quiet  pond  above  the 
dam;  and  the  result  was  the  stratum  of  con- 
glomerate, ill  its  turn  nearly  eroded,  —  which 
had  been  a  problem. 


The  river  has  sunk  into  the  bowels  of  t*ie  e.nrth. 


'•  Consider  a  moment  how  lo  g  the  river 
must  have  been  in  cutting  aw.iy  ti'.e  hundreds 
of  feet  of  lava;  then  compare  that  small  piece 
of  work  with  the  gigantic  gorges  of  the  Colo- 
rado, so  many  miles  long,  and  see  if  you  can 
estimate  how  long  the  earth  has  been  in  ap- 
proaching its  present  state  from,  probably,  a 
mere  fragment  of  some  other  world. 

'■  It  makes  your  head  swim  to  dare  to  think 
of  such  a  lapse  of  time;  and  yet  you  have 
lived  twenty,  thirty,  or  forty  years,  intending 
to  live  as  many  more  equally  long! 

"  In  1540  an  expedition  was  sent  by  Spain 
into  what  is  now  New  Mexico  and  Arizona. 
It  was  under  the  command  of  Vasques  de  Co- 
ronado,  who  sent  a  detachment,  in  charge  of  an 
oflrcer  named  Cardinas,  northward;  and  it 
was  the  latter  who,  after  a  march  of  some 
twenty  days  from  the  Moquis  towns,  reached 
the  margin  of  a  gorge,  the  bottom  of  which 
seemed  to  him  more  than  three  leagues  below. 

''  Sebastian  Coronado,  I  think,  was  one  of 
Escalante's  olTicers,  and  determined  the  junc- 
tion of  the  Colorado  and  Gilas,  or  some  othe.* 
stream.  In  fact,  there  are  so  many  Corona- 
dos  and  Diazes,  and  similar  names,  that  one 
admires  the  ingenuity  of  a  Humboldt,  Irving, 


iy> 


THE    CAMP    IN     Tin-:    (JlLl  II. 


I  I. 

'  r 


i; 


or  PrcRcott,  in  keeping  them  within  their  own 
•phere." 

We  next  liRtened  to  an  account  of  several 
days'  work,  rife  with  danger  and  excitement; 
but  I  must  omit  it.  One  day's  experience, 
which  he  told  conci-iely,  I  will  repeat.  lie 
•aid, — 

"  Another  day,  which  ntnnd*  prominently 
upon  the  pages  of  tny  diary,  is  when  the  fierce 
river  made  an  almost  successful  attempt  to 
drag  down  our  galLint  leader,  and  Georije, 
the  life  and  song  of  our  party.  It  happened 
in  thiswise:  We  h.id  been  having  splendid 
luck,  and  dashed  unharmed  over  nearly  every- 
thing that  came  in  our  p.ith, having  innumer- 
able narrow  escapes  ;  but,  so  long  as  we  came 
out  'all  right,'  a  miss  was  considered  fully 
equp)  to  a  mile,  and,  besides,  afTorded conver- 
sation for  the  camp.  'Hard  on  the  '-ight  I  ' 
'  Hard  on  the  left  f  '  Pull  out  strong! '   'Pull, 

pull  for  your  lives,  boys  I '     '  Pull  like , 

boys,  or  we're  gone !' rang  in  our  ears,  min- 
gled with  the  tumultuous  roar  of  water,  all 
day  long. 

"  Sharply,  one  evening,  we  c.ime  to,  upon  a 
mass  of  granitic  bowlders,  where  was  room 
for  a  camp.  Just  below  was  a  small  rapid, 
and  a  half  mile  farther  down  was  as  ugly  a 
looking  hole  as  I  had  ever  seen.  The  decision 
was  to  run  it  in  the  morning,  an  examination 
having  placed  it  in  a  favorable  light.  Morn- 
ing, therefore,  found  the  two  boats  with  hatch- 
es battened  down  securely,  and  everything 
made  fast  that  would  go  by  the  board  in  case 
of  a  capsize. 

"  Our  boat,  containing  the  colonel,  was  to 
go  first.  Mantling  the  oars,  we  cast  off,  and 
swung  out  into  the  stream.  The  regular  dip- 
ping of  the  oars  accelerated  the  speed  of  the 
boat,  and  like  an  arrow  she  shot  through 
the  small  rapid,  allowing  the  colonel  to  catch 
a  better  view  of  the  plunge.  We  would  then 
have  landed,  and  again  inspected  it;  but  it 
was  too  late.  No  human  power  could  stem 
that  tide;  and,  heading  her  on,  we  backed  wa- 
ter, that  we  might  fly  into  the  boiling  mass 
of  surges,  whirlpools,  and  waves  with  the  least 
possible  speed. 

"  Silently,  smoothly  we  swept  down  the  de- 
clivity, and  darted  into  the  chaos.  Wave  after 
wave  curled  over  me  as  I  handled  the  bow 
oars;  wave  after  wave  rolled  from  stem  to 
stern  of  our  little  bark,  filling  the  standing- 
rooms  even  with  the  gunwale. 

'"Bale  just  as  fast  as  you  can,  boys!'  the 
colonel  said,  calmly  but  emph.utically ;  and 
we  left  the  oars,  and  plied  the  kettles  with  an 
ardor  cooled  only  by  '■ach   successive   wave 


undoing  our  work,  till  one,  more  powerful  than 
the  rest,  struck  us  n  blow  on  the  port  bow. 
and  over  we  rolled,  quick  as  thought.  Had 
the  colonel  not  had  on  his  life-preserver,  it 
would  have  been  all  over  Vkith  him.  Even  as 
it  was,  he  v/nm  pitched  some  distance  from 
the  boat,  together  with  the  stroke  oarsman, 
George,  and  they  were  caught  in  a  whirlpool, 
and  drawn  rapidly  ilownward.  I  made  a 
clutch  for  something,  as  the  muddy  watir 
closed  over  my  head;  and,  luckily  for  me,  my 
hand  clasped  a  spare  oar  that  was  fastened  to 
the  gunwale,  by  the  aid  of  which  I  brought 
my  head  once  again  into  the  life-giving  me- 
dium. My  hat,  a  soft  felt,  had  been  pulled 
well  over  my  ears,  and  still  held  its  ground, 
clasping  my  face  so  tight  that  I  could  not  see, 
and  could  hardly  breathe.  After  turning  the 
brim  up  so  that  I  could  look  around,  I  saw 
nothing  of  my  companions.  A  second  look, 
however,  showed  me  the  steersman  clinging 
to  a  ring  in  the  stern.  We  then,  for  the  time 
being,  were  all  right;  but  the  whirlpool  pretty 
near  finished  our  friends.  I  had  almost  given 
them  up  for  lost,  when  a  commotion  in  the 
water  beside  me  attracted  my  attention.  In- 
stantly George  and  the  colonel  popped  up  as 
though  shot  from  a  bow.  Had  they  come  up 
twenty  feet  from  the  boat,  they  would  have 
been  swept  on  down  the  wild  current,  and 
dashed  to  piecis  against  the  rocks. 

"Righting  our  craft,  we  one  at  a  time  climbed 
in.  Then  we  laid  to  the  work  of  reaching 
shore  before  another  rapid  could  claim  a  visit. 
Had  this  latter  emergency  occurred,  we  would, 
most  likely,  have  had  to  -ay  farewell  to  the 
sunlight.  A  boat  full  of  v  ""-,  all  but  three 
compartments,  and  with  a  hundred  feet  of 
hawser  trailing  in  the  water,  is  no  easy  thing 
to  handle  with  any  degree  of  rapidity.  What- 
ever we  did  must  be  done  instantly.  We 
pulled  like  heroes.  Caught  by  an  eddy  when 
near  the  wall,  we  were  carried  up  strcain  as 
fast  as  we  had  been  going  down  ;  and  there  was 
imminent  danger  of  again  being  thrown  into 
the  main  current.  We  succeeded,  by  steady 
labor,  in  running  up  to  the  granite;  and,  haul- 
ing in  a  few  feet  of  the  hawser,  I  leaped  on  a 
convenient  ledge,  and  made  fast  to  a  small  knob 
of  granite,  just  as  the  consort  ran  alongside, 
minus  a  pair  of  oars,  full  of  water,  and  with 
a  rowlock  torn  off.  Owing  to  her  lightness 
and  superior  sea-going  qualities,  she  had 
weathered  the  gale,  and  sustained  only  slight 
damages. 

"  When  order  was  once  more  restored,  we 
proceeded,  with  the  usual  number  of  hair- 
breadth escapes,  till  near  evening,  when,  in 


THE    CAMP     IN    Tin:    GULCH. 


»3« 


•verful  tl.nn 
port  bow. 
ight.     Had 
reservcr.  it 
Even   as 
tnnce    from 
e  oarRfiiaii, 
.  whirlpool. 
I    made    a 
udily   wiitor 
for  me,  m>' 
fastened  to 
I  brought 
•giving  me- 
been  pulled 
its   ground, 
luld  not  see, 
turning  the 
ound,  I  saw 
econd  look, 
an   ctingin'4 
for  the  time 
rlpool  pretty 
ilmost  given 
otion  in  the 
cntion.     In- 
opped  up  as 
liey  conic  up 
would  have 
current,  and 
s. 

timeclimbed 
of  reaching 
claim  a  visit. 
;d,  we  would, 
rewell   to  the 
all  but  three 
dred  feet  of 
lo  easy  thing 
idity.    What- 
stantly.      We 
in  eddy  when 
up  stream   as 
and  there  was 
;  thrown  into 
ed,  by  steady 
te;  and,  haul- 
I  leaped  on  a 
o  a  small  knob 
an  alongside, 
ater,  and  with 
her  lightness 
ties,    she    had 
ed  only  slight 

s  restored,  we 
mber  of  hair- 
ning,  when,  if 


■ttempting  to  land  at  the  head  of  a  long,  d.in- 
gerous  rapid,  a  lurch  of  the  boat  made  me  miss 
my  calculation,  and.  instead  of  jumping  on  a 
large  rock,  I  sank  beneath  the  current,  while 
the  bo.'it  and  its  occupants  rushed  on  to  its 
fate,  towing  me  by  the  length  of  line  I  had 
taken  out,  and  which  I  clung  to,  dragging 
myself  to  the  surface. 

"  It  was  not  the  desire  of  the  crt  w  to  thus 
involuntarily  run  a  bad  rapid  stern -first ;  con- 
sequently, as  the  boat  drifted  past  a  projecting 
rock,  the  colonel  leaped  out,  and  tried  to  catch 
the  line.  He  failed.  The  steersman  franti- 
cally followed  the  example  of  our  leader. 
Springing  high  in  air,  he  came  down  with  a 
splash  upon  a  bowlder  just  protruding  above 
the  surface,  and  clutched  it  with  desperate  en- 
ergy- 

"  Mow  he  got  to  the  shore  I  do  not  know. 
I  was  interested  elsewhere.  I  thought  I  was 
left  to  battle  with  the  rapid  alone,  and  as  the 
water  was  no  place  to  do  it  in, — to  swim 
ashore  would  have  been  impossible,  —  I  went 
hand  over  hand  to  the  boat,  and  tumbled 
into  the  bow  standing-room.  Surprised  and 
pleased,  I  found  George  had  loinained  to  help 
me  out  of  my  dilemma,  and  we  prepared  to 
take  the  rapid  in  the  mo>t  advantageous  man- 
ner. Close  to  the  final  plunge,  in  the  middle 
of  the  stream,  was  a  mass  of  granite  as  big  as 
a  hou^e.  Against  this  the  water  surged,  and 
then  recoiled.  The  swell  thus  caused  gave  us 
an  impetus  towards  the  left  hand  wall;  and, 
laying  all  our  strength  on  the  oars,  we  shot 
across,  and  lodged  against  a  friendly  projec- 
tion, while,  speedily,  I  jumped  on  a  ledge,  and 
had  her  fast  to  the  rocks.  Safe!  And  hapjiy 
we  were,  you  can  believe,  as  we  cast  a  glance 
over  the  tumbling  waters  to  the  gloomy  bend 
below,  and  then  above,  to  see  what  had  be- 
come of  the  rest. 

"A  point  had  cut  off  their  view,  and  the 
colonel  rapidly  climbed  up  the  clilT,  to  watch 
for  the  end.  To  his  great  ]oy,  he  saw  us  safe, 
and  ordered  the  otiier  boat  to  be  let  down  by 
line,  which  was  accomplished  with  extreme 
difficulty. 

"  But  one  fine  day  all  tliese  things  came  to 
an  end,  as  my  lecture  now  has  done.  We 
bade  a  farewell  forever  to  the  wild  Colorado; 
and  that  is  how  I  happen  to  be  here  to-night, 
by  the  fire  of  our  snug  camp  in  the  gulch,  tell- 
ing you  why  my  bones  are  not  bleaching  on 
the  banks  of  the  Unknown  River." 

We  dispersed  to  our  humble  shelter,  for  it 
was  much  later  than  usual,  and  all  were  ready 
to  go  to  sleep,  and  "  no  questions  asked." 
But,  for  the  benefit  of  the  inquisitive,  I  will 


add  that  our  next  liilure  was  to  be  delivered 
by  the  General,  on  "  Some  Noi)le  Red  Men." 


NoTB.  Rio  is  pronounced  rto ;  S.in  Ju.in,  San  l/ixhikH! 
Chiquito,  tc^tkt-lo;  Sit"r.i,  .S'/.i>i ir  r«A ;  Ksialanle,  Ki- 
ka  laH-laj.     Cliiquito  meant  v*ry  titlU. 


133 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH. 


Some  Noulf-  Red  Men 


THE  OAMP  IN  THE  GULOH, 

v.  — SOME  NOBLE  RED  MEN. 

nV  Jl'STIN    DALE. 

"  'T^HE    nanvc   Anioricnn,    us    loiii;;  :\s  my 
•*■    memory  serves  me.  li;is  been  the  world's 
ide.il  of  cruelty." 

The  Geiier.il  stopped,  and  darted  his  keen 
blue  eyes  at  us  the  more  fully  to  impress  his 
sentence.  He  --tooped  and  stirred  up  the  tire 
before  proeeetlinij.  and  one  unaetpiainted  with 
him  would  have  thought  that  he  had  entirely 
foriiotteu   himself  in   some  vision  of  the  pa.st. 

'•But."  he  went  on,  "was  he  by  nature 
cruel,  or  did  contamination  with  cruelty  make 
him  so.?  We  all  now  unite  in  sneering  at  his 
wretchedness,  at  ■  the  Noble  Red  Man.'  as  he 
is  swept  away  by  civilization's  irresistible  tide. 
We  all  unite  in  condemning  his  fruitless  at- 
tempt to  ;.oid  the  liome  of  liis  childhood 
against  the  i.ivaik'r;  but  wo  do  not  stop  to 
reason  that  we  would,  perhaps,  act  precisely 
the  same,  were  we  similarly  situated. 

"You  say  we  would  not  be  guilty  of  such 
acts  of  cruelty  as  the  savage  has  been  known, 
to  commit.  I  agree  uith  you;  but  let  us  at 
the  sair.e  time  tliink  a  moment.  Recall  the 
gentle  nati'.re  of  the  savage<  met  by  the  Span- 


iards about  the  year  1500.  Do  you  not  remem- 
ber the  words  of  the  chief,  who,  belbre  being 
bto-Hcd  at  the  stake  for  resisting  the  authority 
of  the  Spanish  crown,  said,  when  asked,  that 
he  did  not  want  to  become  a  Christian  and 
go  to  heaven,  where  he  was  told  the  white 
men  went,  for  he  would  not  go  where  he  must 
again  submit  to  such  cruelty.'  It  seems  to  nie 
that  European  humanity  must  have  been  bc- 

I  low  par  in  those  days;  and  when  the  words 
of  this  primitive  martyr,  together  with  other 
tales,  were  related  to  the  young  Iiv'ian.  he 
must  have  started  up  with  all  his  iTupetuosi- 
tv,  and  sworn  eternal  vengeance  on  all  white 
men. 

'■  In  consequence,  the  pioneei",  returning 
from  the  dav's  chase,  found  his  cabin  a  heap 
of  smouldering  ruins,    and   ids  family   either 

,  mm-dcred  or  carried  away  to  a  fate  ten  thou- 
sand fold  more  horrible  than  sim|)le  murder. 
Before  the  miserable  wreck  of  all  that  was 
dear  to  him,  then,  the  hunter  on  his  knees 
swore   vengeance   on    the   Indian.       Forth  he 

I  went,  and  every  Indian  crossing  his  path  was 

'  stricken  by  the  imerring  bullet,  and  another 
notch  was  added  to  the  record  on  the  stock  of 

j  his  ;.".in. 

"These  notches,  most  likely,  recorded  the 
deaths  of  red  men  who  had  nothing  whatever 


1 


J 


,1 

5* 


THE     CAM  I'    IN     THE     GULCH. 


133 


3'oii  not  icmeiii- 
10,  before  being 
ig  llie  autliority 
hen  asked,  that 
X  Christian   and 

told  tlic  white 
a  where  lie  must 

It  seems  to  nie 
L  have  been  Ije- 
when  the  words 
ther  with  other 
ling  In''iaii,    he 

Ills  iitipetiiosi- 
lee  on   all  white 

inecr,  returning 
is  eabin  a  heap 
is  family  either 
I  fate  ten  thou- 
sini])le  murder, 
of  all  that  was 
;r  on  his  knees 
ian.  Forth  lie 
ig  his  path  was 
et,  and  another 
on  the  sloek  ol' 

\y,  recorded  the 
Jthing  whatever 


to  do  with  the  rupture  of  his  happiness,  and 
who  mav  have  desired  pcaee  as  much  as  he 
hiiii-t'lf  did. 

■'  It  mattered  not  to  the  avenger.  He  thirst- 
ed for  the  bI(<od  of  Indians,  ami  took  it.  The 
I;'iliau,  in  return,  thir-tv'd  for  the  blood  of 
white  men,  and  as  imiustiv  took  it. 

••  It  is  so  now.  \.jt  an  Indian  commit  a 
dejiredation,  and  tlu  white  men  wreak  their 
veu'^eance  on  all  Indians,  without  discrimina- 
tion. 

••  Suppose  an  opposite  case.  An  Indian  has 
been  killed  bv  a  white  man.  You  are  riding 
along  alone,  anil  for  rexenge  an  Imlian  shoots 
you  in  the  back,  although  \on  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  that  imy  one  had  been  killing 
red-skins.  Your  murder  would  enrage  your 
friends,  and  in  their  turn  they  would  murder 
every  Indian  thev  could  g't  at.  When  a  white 
man  sluiots  an  Indian,  it's  all  right  with  the 
rest  of  the  whit  j.-< ;  but  should  au  Indian  shoot 
a  white,  he  is  killed  lor  it,  Tli(»  same  rule 
applies  fi)  the  other  side.  Therefore,  if  a  man 
now  shows  humanity  to  a  '  treacherous'  red- 
skin, the  latter  generally  concludes  ftt  once 
that  h:  is  afraid  of  him,  or  else  is  a  fool.  In 
the  fust  case  he  would  take  aiUantage  of  the 
poor  white;  in  tlie  second  he  would  let  him 
alone. 

•'  I  was  once  getting  a  drink  from  a  tank  of 
water,  wlieii  an  Indian  leisurely  sauntered  up 
and  asked  for  a  drink.  To  satisfy  my  curior-- 
il'.  .  I  dii)ped  up  a  cupliil,  and  politely  handed 
it  him.  He  drained  it,  and  then  —  although 
lie  stood  as  close  to  the  tank  as  I  —  he  held 
the  cup  towards  me,  and  cnclaimed.  '  .More.' 
1  was  tempted  to  swear,  and  use  a  little  shoe 
leather;  but,  as  I  was  partially  to  blame,  I 
took  the  cup,  and  walked  oil". 

"  We  can  conclude,  then,  that  once  the  red 
man  was  noble.  — which  was  very  long  ago, 
—  and  that  now  he  will  stand  the  closest  watch- 
ing one  can  give  him. 

"  Some  of  these  noble  .•ed  men,  of  whom 
I  shall  sav  a  few  words,  —  omitting,  however, 
to  state  wherein  they  are  noble,  —  are  the  Na- 
vajoes  and  the  Pi  Utes — almost  the  highest 
and  the  lowest  grades  of  lixing  Indian  na- 
tions, 

"The  first  class  —  the  Navajocs  — are  a 
jiart  of  the  great  Athabascan  family,  to  which 
belong  also  the  Apaches,  Chiiijiewas,  and  oth- 
ers. For  intelligence,  they  rank  among  the 
lirst  of  aborigines;  and,  as  a  natural  result. 
are  tolerabh'  well  oil"  in  wordly  goods  :  I  mean 
horses,  &c.  From  the  Moipiis  they  have 
learned  the  art  of  weaving,  and  produce  more 
and  liner  blankets  than  their  teachers.     It  is 


said  that  the  reason  the'r  blankets  are  better 
is,  that  among  the  Navajojs  the  men  do  the 
weaving,  wlifle  with  the  Moqiiis  it  is  the  wo- 
men. How  much  merit  this  explanation  has, 
voii  can  judge  for  yourselves.  Hesides  the 
woollen  gooils,  their  properly  con  ists  of  large 
Hock-  of  sheep,  herds  of  hor.-cs,  and  various 
other  animals, 

••  The  Navajo  bearing  is  quite  dignified,  and 
their  character  is  freer  ami  more  frank  than 
that  of  most  Indians.  Their  imitative  spirit 
leads  them  to  adopt  many  customs  not  origi- 
Ti.il.  Thev  work  in  iron  to  a  certain  extent; 
aiul  I  haic  seen  a  bridle-bit  made  by  one  of 
the  rude  blacksmiths  which  exhibiteii  consid- 
erable skill. 

••  .\t  present  the  whole  tribe  is  at  peace, 
though  thev  have  been  so  liut  a  few  years. 
Thev  will  smuggle  oil"  a  horse  or  sheep  once 
in  a  while;  but.  taken  all  in  all,  they  behave 
themselves  verv  properly.  When  in  their  own 
domains,  they  are  said  to  be  extremely  hos- 
pitable, often  killing  a  sJK-ep  t'roni  their  fioeks 
to  supply  their  guests  with  pro|ier  food.  In 
return,  they  expect  to  receive  gooil  treatment 
when  thev  make  a  pilgrimage  to  a  foreign 
land. 

••They  understand  little  or  no  ICnglisli,  but 
know  consiilerable  .Spanish;  hence  one  who 
understands  the  latter  language  can  generally 
make  himself  nnderstootl. 

•■  The  Navajo  is  rather  ol  a  humorous  na- 
ture, and  at  proper  times  will  accept  a  joke 
with  the  best  of  grace.  Frequently  you  can 
have  as  jolly  a  time  with  a  band  just  mot.  as 
with  old  acquaintances  of  a  ligh'er  color. 
Thev  will  sing  for  you.  dance  for  you.  or 
laugh  at  30U  ;  anything  to  m;ike  an  evening 
merry.  Their  singing  is  curious,  as  is  all 
Indian  singing.  When  lieard  for  the  fir-t 
time,  it  sounds  so  funny  that  you  would  laugh 
immoderately;  but  as  you  hear  more  there 
appears  a  kind  of  doleful  -ignificance.  which 
claims  attention.  I  never  was  able  to  ascer- 
tain whether  their  songs  had  any  meaning  or 
not;  but  it  is  most  probable  that  they  have, 
if  they  are  like  other  Indians, 

'•  To  one  who  does  not  understand  the  lan- 
guage, the  songs  are  a  mere  a-he  —  a-he  —  a-he 
—  a-ha  —  a-ha — a-ho  —  a-ho  —  a-ho  —  a-lio  — 
a-hi  —  a-hi,  and  so  forth.  While  uttering  this 
gibberish,  some  of  the  singers  will  close  their 
eyes  and  draw  their  countenances  into  shapes 
so  forlorn  in  expression  that  they  would  make 
exquisite  head-stones  in  a  graveyard, 

"Their  language  itself  is  pleasant  and  musi- 
cal, when  s|)(jken  tluently.  It  abound-  in  a 
sound    •  ktia,'  which   tiive-  to  word-  a   strange 


t 


'34 


THE     CAMP     IN     THE     GULCH. 


force,  ami  makes  them  cxtremel\'  hard  for  an 
Eiv,'li'-h  t<)ii'_,nie  to  maf-ter  Examples  are, 
'7'.n///-XY/(/-c^,' a  match  ;  ' Kflf-hc-zas-la.'  'Kflc- 
bc-^ail.'  niuncs  for  hricile  anii-uidje:  •  Pal- 
ktlad-(Uc.'  a  blanket. 

•■  These  Indians  are  '.i>uallv  well -built  and 
mu-,inhir,  with  brilli.int  eyes  and  pearl \-  teeth, 
black  nuislaches,  that  form  on  each  side  an 
accurate  rij;ht  angle,  and  loiii;  black  hair  kept 
jjlossv  by  frequent  washiui;  with  soap-iool  — 
the  root  ol"  a  species  of  yucca.  When  I  re- 
iiiark  that  anything-  about  an  Indian  is  neat 
or  cle.m,  I  mean  that  it  is  so  for  an  Indian. 
Always  remember  that  every  Indian  is  more 
or  less  filthy:   that  is  to  say,  none  are  clean. 

"  We  in\iti  (1  a  nartv  of  seven  or  ciLtht  dis;- 
nitarie^  to  camp  near  us  once,  that  we  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  learning  their  habits, 
language,  and  natures  better.  Our  camp  was 
beside  a  little  shallow  creek,  and  the  Navajoes 
camped  close  by  on  the  other  side.  We  t'ur- 
nisbed  them  with  wood  from  our  pile,  and 
gave  them  some  rations,  in  order  that  thev 
might  get  into  a  mood  for  song  and  panto- 
mimic conversation,  • 


'  "Witky-up." 

'•  Until  after  we  had  di--posed  of  our  own 
supper,  we  left  them  to  themselves.  But  as 
soon  as  it  was  lairly  dark,  we  went  over,  and 
it  was  only  a  short  time  before  we  bad  them 
singing  to  their  lull  cajiacity.  They  did  not 
stop  with  one  or  t\>o  songs,  but  kept  it  up  until 
for  once  we  we-e  abundantly  satisfied.  At 
some  parts  they  laughed  as  tl'.ongh  they  would 
burst,  anil,  f.ir  riught  we  could  tell,  might  lKi\e 
been  enjoying  themselves  at  our  expense;  hut 
we  cared  not,  and  appreciated  their  hilarity  as 
much  as  themselves.  Finally,  they  retiuested 
us  to  sing;  and  of  course  we  could  not  refuse, 
after  they  had  gi\en  us  such  an  admirable 
concert. 


'•That  sweetest  of  all  songs  \\as  our  first 
selection,  for  it  was  so  entirely  dilVerent  from 
the  broken  bowlings  of  the  Indians.  Tlie 
l)eautil"ul  words  of  '  Home,  sweet  Home,'  rose 
sweetly  on  the  night  air,  cbarmnig  even  our- 
selves, but  delighting  the  red  men. 

■•  Asb-tish-cal,  the  principal  chief,  was 
wholly  abs(  rhed.  He  leaned  forward  with  a 
\ague.  lost  air.  while  his  sharp  e\es  percepti- 
bly softened,  as  the  gentle  strains  tell  sooth- 
ingly on  his  ear, 

"  As  the  lastnotesdied  away,  theyexclaimcd, 
with  great  jileasure.  •  Webuo,  wehuo,  wehi'o- 
ha  (good,  good,  good),  anil  Ash-tish-cal  stared 
ab--tractedly  into  the  bed  of  coals.  Was  he 
dreaming  of  a  home  —  sweet  liome  —  recalled 
to  his  heart  by  the  harmony  of  the  song?  Not 
iinju-obable,  for.  •  be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's 
no  place  like  home.' 

•'  We  sangthem  several  more  songs:  •Cham- 
pagne Charley.'  •  I5eautiful  Isle  of  the  .Sea,' 
•  Lone  Starry  Hours,'  and  others,  all  of  which 
our  friends  enjoyed,  to  all  outward  appear- 
ances. 

••To 'enliven  the  assemblage,  a  dance  was 
next  proposed.  Not  a  '  L:incers,'  or  :i  '  Re- 
dowa.' or  a  '  German.'  but  a  genuine  ^«/f/-/- 
ca/i  •  walk  around.'  such  as  one  does  not  get 
a  chance  to  jiarticipate  in  every  day.  Around 
the  fire  a  inixed  circle  of  Nav.ajoes  and  Amer- 
icans was  formed,  ;iuil  when  all  wds  re:idy, 
the  Na\  iijoes  struck  up  their  music.  To  this 
tune  wo  circled  round  and  round,  with  the  in- 
describable Indian  step,  so  slow  and  \et  m) 
ilouble-jointeil,  until  \vc  became  di/zv,  when 
we  turned  and  unwound  the  other  way.  This 
was  kept  u|>  imtil  we  concluded  we  had 
enough  of  it.  Occasionally  some  one  would 
stumble  over  a  root  or  something,  and  nar- 
rowly escape  falling  into  the  lire,  amusing  the 
Indians  luigely, 

"When  we  had  again  seated  ourselves,  the 
subiecl  of  I'i  I'tes  came  uj).  With  a  laugh 
the  Nav;ijoes  exclaimed,  'Pi  Utes  no  wehuo,' 
and  :it  the  same  time  a  bright  idea  seemed  to 
jiossess  a  short,  wiry  fellow,  who  jumpeil  up 
and  stepped  ;iway  :i  rod  or  two  behind  .-onie 
tall  skioik  bushes.  Another,  whose  name, 
translated,  sigr\ilied  '  the  Hear,"  smiled  as 
though  he  knew  what  was  coming,  and  the 
smile  passed  to  the  lips  ot   the  otheis, 

"The  Indian  soon  reappeared.  He  Inul 
thrown  olV  all  his  clothing  but  his  short 
breeches,  and  these  were  rolled  up  as  far  as 
practicable.  His  hair  was  dishevelled,  his 
countenance  was  straineil  into  a  perfect  pic- 
ture of  misery,  :ind  bis  ad\ance  was  with  a 
slow,  sneaking  gait,  precisely  the  opjiosite  of 


THE     CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH, 


135 


\Mi<  (lur  first 
lilViMviit  from 
ulians.  The 
t  1  loTiic'  rose 
iig  even  our- 
n. 

chief,  was 
rward  with  a 
yes  porcepti- 
is  fell   bootli- 

oy  oxchiiined. 
•hill),  wfhi'o- 
is!i-cal  stared 
^Is.  Was  ho 
ne  —  roiallcd 
e  s()ii'4?  Not 
imlile,  there's 

ngs  :  •  Chani- 

of  the  Sea,' 

,  all  of  Mhich 

.vard  appcar- 

a  dance  was 
s,'  or  a  '  Re- 
iiiiinc  Amcri- 
does  not  get 
lay.  Around 
;s  and  Anier- 
I  wits  ready, 
sic.  To  this 
,  with  the  in- 
V   and  yet  so 

dizzy,  when 
r  way.  This 
led  wc  had 
le  one  would 
iig.    and  nar- 

anuising  the 

urselves.  the 
\'ith  a  laugh 
s  no  wehuo,' 
ea  seemed  to 

0  jumped  up 
hehind  some 
ivhose  name, 
.'  smiled  as 
iug,  and  the 
:hers. 

id.  He  ha. I 
ul  his  short 
up  as  far  as 
lie  veiled,    his 

1  perfect  pie- 
was   with  a 

e  opjiosite  of 


his  original  firm,  upright  bearing.  Evidently 
he  was  going  to  present  himself  as  a  comedi- 
an. He  crouched  close  to  the  fire,  exactly  as 
the  I'i  Utes  do,  and  spread  his  hand ;  stillly 
over  it,  shivering  contiiuuilly.  Then,  draw- 
ing himself  up  into  smaller  dimenoions,  he 
revolved  his  hand  about  his  face  in  the  vicin- 
itv  of  his  nose,  and  produced  a  prolonged 
snillle.  very  much  as  a  boot-black  would  do, 
il'  he  had  lost  his  cambric.  Keeping  his  el- 
bows close  against  his  sides,  he  shivcringly 
extended  his  hand,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  whining 
tone,  •  Tobiic.  iis/i-aii-ty.'  '  Bi.iciiit,  as/i-an- 
/)•.'  suddenlv  withdrawing  it.  with  indications 
of  great  fear.  This  representation  of  Pi  L'te 
character  was  perfect;  and  while  we  all 
laughed  at  the  Indian's  cleverness,  he  clipped 
away  to  his  dressing-room  again. 

••  Hardly  had  we  fairly  recovered  from  our 
laughter,  when  the  mimic  came  out  again, 
dressed  in  his  loose  shirt,  his  flowing  cotton 
breeches,  reaching  to  the  knee,  and  his  moc- 
casons.  As  he  reached  us,  he  said,  '  Mcrica- 
nn,'  and  stopped  close  to  the  fire.  He  held  liis 
outspread  hands  over  it  a  moment,  then  rubbed 
them  together,  as  he  would  do  in  washing, 
and  turned  his  head  away  in  disgust  from  im- 
aginary smoke.  Next,  turning  his  back  to  the 
fire,  he  raised  one  foot  awhile  towards  the 
heat,  then  the  other.  Turning  round,  he 
a^ain  held  out  his  hands,  and  drew  closer  to 
the  fire.  His  back  soon  getting  cold,  he  had 
to  jiresent  that  to  the  heat  again,  allowing  his 
front  half  to  cool  awhile.  And  thus  he  turned 
round  and  round,  till  we  were  all  convulsed  at 
Ills  accurate  imitation  of  the  way  a  white  man 
acts  when  bv  a  camp-lire  on  a  very  cold  night. 
He  went  through  the  same  operation  to  rep- 
resent the  Mormons,  and  again  retired. 

'•  \\'e  boi^an  to  consider  it  a  '  bi;^  show,'  and 
anxiously  waited  for  the  actor  lo  appear  in  a 
new  character.  I  le  was  somewhat  longer  than 
usual;  but  when  he  came,  he  was  tlre^sed 
in  complete  Navajo  costume  —  finel\ -stitched 
red  inoccasons.  with  turned-up  raw-hide  soles, 
and  brass  buttons;  red  buckskin  leggings, 
with  scalloped  edges,  fastened  just  below  the 
knee  by  long  scarlet  garters,  tipped  with 
fringe;  the  cotton  breeches  ;  red  sash  ;  cotton 
shirt,  hanging  loose,  like  a  coat,  ivaching  to 
his  waist;  the  liea\y,  striped  blanket  foliled 
about  his  shouldeis;  the  turban,  of  gayly- 
colored  cloth;  and  the  long  bow.  with  the 
fancy  fur  tpiiver  full  of  arrows,  hanging  at  his 
back.  He  walked  to  the  lire  with  a  gracelul 
dignity,  and  stood  before  it.  motionless,  re- 
marking, with  a  tpiiet  smile,  — 
"  '  Navajo  I  ' 


••  This,  then,  was  the  way  the  noble  Navajo 
conducted  himself  in  camp.  .Surely  he  threw 
no  discredit  on  his  race  ;  for  if  all  appeared 
as  he  did  tiiat  night  by  the  fire,  we  might 
truthfully  speak  of  them  as  •  some  uoiie  red 
men.' 

••  His  show  was  not  done  yet.  As  soon  as 
he  had  exhibited  his  finery  sufficiently,  he 
threw  oil"  the  bow  and  blanket,  and  picked  up 
one  of  their  peculiar  riding-whips.  The  near- 
est thing  I  can  liken  th"se  whips  to  is  a  '  cat- 
o'-nine-tails'  with  only  /zvo  tails.  Perhaps,  in 
vour  vounger  days,  you  may  have  had  the 
misfortune  to  encounter  one  of  these  animals. 
The  Navajo  whip  v.ould  be  even  more  fero- 
cious in  a  hand-to-hand  fight.  Saying  •  Co- 
manche,' and  '  Navajo,'  our  mimic  went 
through  a  series  of  motions  representing 
fighting.  He  showed  the  result  by  placing 
himself  astride  an  imaginary  lior-e,  in  the 
position  of  rapid  riding,  and.  glancing  behind, 
with  a  countenanco  full  of  fear,  he  laid  the 
whip  heavily  on  his  steed's  quarters.  •  Co- 
manche. Comanche!'  he  shouted,  meaning 
that  the  Comanche  had  turned  tail,  and  was 
riding  awav,  to  live  and  bravely  fight  another 
day.  In  the  same  way  he  showed  that  in  fight- 
ing, with  the  Utes,  —  not  Pi  Utes,  —  it  was 
they  who  were  victorious  at  times,  and  at  oth- 
ers it  was  the  Utes.  The  Apaches  were  illus- 
trated simiLirly;  and  then  he  donned  his 
blanket  again,  and  seated  himself  beside  his 
red  brothers.  His  performance  had  far  ex- 
ceeded our  expectations,  for,  though  we  had 
seen  manv  Navajoes,  never  before  had  we 
found  one  whose  dramatic  ahilitv  was  so  pow- 
erful. To  an  enterprising  shownian  he  would 
he  worth  an  immense  I'ortune. 

■■  Now  it  was  growing  late,  and  the  darken- 
ing countenances  of  the  Indians  plainly  said, 
'  GootI  night.'  Tlierelore  we  took  the  hint, 
and  retireil  to  oi;r  own  quarters.  The  next 
dav  thev  took  their  departure,  and  we  shook 
hands  with  the   li\ely  ininiic  regretfully. 

•■When  Navajoes  tra\el,  some  go  on  foot) 
and  some  on  horses.  The  horses  carry  rolls 
of  blankets,  which  are  traded  for  horses.  And 
rare  I  v  doi's  the  pedestrian  make  the  return 
trip  on  foot.  If  he  cannot  trade  for  a  horse, 
he  sometimes  steals  one ;  but  these  cases  are 
not  frecpient. 

••When  Pi  L'tes  and  Navajoes  get  together, 
thev  are  as  courteous  to  each  other  as  so  many 
wliite  li\pocrites  would  be;  but,  nevertheless, 
^•ou  can  easily  arrive  at  the  Navajo  opinion  of 
the  Pi  J'tes,  when  you  consider  the  mimic's 
represeM.ition." 

Here  the  General  related   se\eral  anecdotes 


136 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE     GULCH. 


of  the  Pi  Utes  and  N.ivajoes,  which  I  shall 
liavc  to  omit,  recording  tlic  follcnviiig  in- 
stead :  — 

'•  The  Pi  Utes,"  he  said,  "  represent,  as  vou 
are  aware,  ahnost  the  very  lowest  grade  of  tlie 
native  American  ;  and  hence  we  are  not  sur- 
prised that  tliev  frighten  themselves  when  they 
undertake  anv  piece  of  extraonhnary  daring. 
Probably  it  is  this  very  trait  which  has  caused 
them  to  be  of  so  little  trouble  to  the  whites. 
They  have  ofTered  little  resistance  to  the 
'course  of  empire;'  and  whenever  they  re- 
sent an  injury,  they  do  it  with  al)-<>luto  safetv 
to   themselves.     .Still,  thcv   have  watched  the 


white  man's  fast-accumulating  power  closely,  I  collect,  while  :ik  is 


the  Pi  Utes  is  sterile  and  rocky  Their  food 
consists  principally  of  wild  rabbits,  which 
are  astonishingly  numerous  in  the  sage  brush, 
and  varieties  of  ^/-rtA-.«  .fccf/.  How  you  laugh 
at  the  idea  of  living  on  grass  seed!  but  I  tell 
you  an  energetic  Indian  will  get  fat  on  it.  and 
would  stay  so  if  he  could  have  a  contin-.ial 
harvest.  Could  you  see  a  bushel  or  two  reauv 
for  grinding,  you  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  tasting  a  nandful  or  so,  and  you  would 
find  it  no  mean  food,  either. 

"Of  .iie  diiVerent  varieties  of  these  seeds, 
those  called  •  Ai:'  and  '  P(/.-7/,' are  found  most 
abundant.     Pash  is   a  verv  line  seed,  hard  to 


but  usually  ontent  themselves  with  accepting 
the  more  rapidly  accumulating  refuse  victuals. 


much  coarser,  and,  I  might 


"  Several  times  the}  luue  attempted  resist- 
ance, but  hsve  each  time  failed.  Whenever 
I  retlcct  on  the  approaching  fate  of  the  whole 
red  nation,  the  words  of  a  chief — who  was 
discussing  the  advance  of  ci\  ili/ation,  the  util- 
ization of  their  lamls,  and  the  destruction  of 
their  game,  with  an  American  —  ring  in  my 
ears.  He  exclaimed,  sadly  shaking  his  head, 
and  with  solemn  accent,  ■A/i-A-a/i'ci,^,,  ah-kan'c- 
ga,  nuctiy  shnmi  '.'  ('Why,  why,  I  think!') 
And  m.ay  we  not  also  exclaim,  '  why } '  What  a 
deep,  deep  mystery  is  in  that  one  word  !  This 
chief  sorrowfully  admitted  t!-.at  the  white  man 
might  have  the  best  right  to  the  country,  as 
they  made  it  uselul  and  productive;  but  still 
he  wondered  '  why.' 

•'The  Pi  Ute  tribe  is  not  all  in  one  band, 
but  is  dividetl  into  several  jiarties,  each  of 
which  is  ruled  by  a  '  ucav'  or  captain.     These 


say.  is  their  main  slay.  The  Sant.i  Clara  In- 
dians cultivate  large  fieliis  of  ak,  which  sup- 
ply them  with  a  pro.)ortionate  amount  of  food. 
In  collecting  the  grass  seed  crops, —which, 
of  course,  is  done  by  the  women.  —  a  large 
conical  basket,  of  their  own  manufacture,  is 
taken,  and  held  in  the  left  hanti  before  the 
feathery  tops  of  the  grass.  Then,  with  ihe 
right  hand,  the  tops  are  struck  by  a  kinil  of 
small  cradle,  and  the  fine  seed  drops  into  the 
basket.  In  this  way.  by  going  from  cluster  to 
cluster  of  the  grass,  the  basket  is  finally  filled, 
anil  the  old  woman  trips  away  to  the  wicky- 
ups,  with  her  load  held  on  Ik  r  back  by  a 
thong  aroi'ud  a  strange  conical  or  acorn- 
shaped  hat  which  she  wears,  well  satisfied  with 
her  work. 

••  I  forgot  to  speak  of  the  rabbits.  Without 
these  the  Pi  Utes  would  be  almost  destitute, 
for  sometimes  their  ak  and  i)ash  fail;  hut  the 
rabbits  never  do.  Usually  they  hunt  these 
animals  with  their  hows  or  their  guns;  but  at 
intervals  a  whole  baud  will  proceed  to  a  spot 
known  to  contain  a  large  number,  where  they 
will  atretcli  a  fine  net — made  from  the  bark 
of  a  species  of  milk-weed,  for  the  purpose  — 
around  the  sage  brush,  in  the  form  of  a  semi- 
circle, whose  radius  is  three  hundred  feet  or 
more.  The  rabbits  a:e  then  drummetl  up  and 
headed  into  this  net,  where  they  are  caught  in 
th,-;  meshes  until  the  savages  can  kill  them. 

"The  skins  of  the  rabbits  they  twist  into 
long  ropes.  These  ropes  are  then  sewed  to- 
gether in  the  form  of  a  robe,  or  cloak;  ana 
otten  some  poor  wretches  wilt  have  no  other 
covering.  The  robes,  though,  are  warm,  and 
arc  not  to  be  hooted  at  by  any  one. 

'•  The  '  mesca!  '  of  the  Mexicans  is  also  a 
favorite  food  of  the  Pi  Utes,  who  cook  it,  or, 


subdivisions  each  have  a  certain  section  of  |  more  correctly,  bake  it,  in  large  pits,  which 
country,  which  they  claim  as  their  own.  and  i  are  first  heated  by  a  fire,  then  the  'yant'  put 
othei  Indians  never  trespass,  except  on  a  visit.  I  in,  covered  with  stones,  and  a  fire  built  on  the 
or   in  war.     The    whole    region   inhabited  by  '  top.     This  mescal,  or  yant,  is  a  variety  of  vuc- 


Their  food 
nbbits,  which 
:ie  sage  brush, 
w  you  laugh 
;eci!  but  I  tell 
fat  on  it.  and 
t   a  con  tin 'in  I 

1  or  two  reauy 
t  tlie  tempta- 
;nti)ou  would 

r  tli.?Ke  seeds, 
'C  found  most 
seed,  liaril  to 
,  and,  I  might 
it.i  Clara  In- 
k,  which  snp- 
lounl  of  food, 
-ips,  — which, 
;n.  —  a  large 
anufacture,  is 
111  before  the 
en,  with  the 
:>}■  a  kind  of 
rops  into  the 
■om  cluster  to 
finally  filled, 
to  the  wicky- 
r  back  by  a 
il  or  acorn- 
satisfied  w  ith 

ts.  Without 
[)st  destitute, 
fail ;  hut  the 
y  hunt  these 
guns ;  but  at 
5ed  to  a  spot 
r,  where  they 
om  the  bark 
e  purpose  — 
111  of  a  semi- 
ulred  feet  or 
iimctl  up  and 
are  caught  in 
kill  thoin. 
ey  twist  into 
-Ml  sewed  to- 
•  cloak;  ana 
ave  no  other 
•o  warm,  and 
le. 

ms  is  also  a 
3  cook  it,  or, 

2  pits,  which 
e  ' yant '  put 
e  built  on  the 
arietv  of  yuc- 


THE     CAMP    IN    THK     CULCII. 


»37 


ca,  with    broad,   bayonet-like   leaves,   fringed 
on  each   side  with   small,   crooked  spines,  or 
hooks.     The  plant  resembles  the  top  of  a  pine- 
apple, and  from  the  centre   of  the   cluster  of 
leaves  a   slender  stalk   shoots   up,   similar  to 
young  asparagus,  attaining  a  great    height, — 
the  tallest  I  ever  sav  was  about  twenty  feet,  —  j 
hard    and    fibrous.      When    this    shoot     first 
sprouts  from  the   plant,  the  '  head'  of  yant —  j 
tlie  core  ri  the  plant  —  is  cut  out,  and  subject- 
ed to  the  baking,  which  makes   it  tender,  and 
sweet  as  honey.     The  Indians  take  il  into  the 
settlements,  sometimes,  and  easily  trade  it  for  | 
rtour  or  old  bread.  I 

'•After  yant  the  Pi  Utes  also  gather  for  food  1 
the   Ind-an    fig.  or   '  cactus  apple.'  the    •  o  .  .e  ' 
apple,  and  the  nut  of  the   pinon  pine. 

'•All  varieties  of  cacti  grow  very  raiikly  in  | 
Arizona.  The  one  which  bears  the  largest 
and  best  fruit  is  a  great,  spr:iwling  plant,  cov- 
ered with  the  most  detestable  spines  conceiv- 
able. Its  branches  arc  compo--ed  of  large, 
flat  ovals,  alternately  at  right  angles  with  each 
other.  Fields  of  these  are  as  formidable  as  an 
armv  of  bayonets ;  and  one  has  to  follow  up 
some  ravine  or  watercourse  to  get  through 
them.  Head  a  horse  for  a  contemptibly  small 
bush,  and  when  he  arrives  at  it.  lie  will  jump 
high  nough  to  clear  a  church  spire.  As  an 
illustration  of  the  top  oval  of  one  of  tlu'se  ve- 
getable tarantulas,  hold  up  your  hand,  and 
spread  it  to  its   full  extent. 

"  The  largo  crimson  ajiples,  shaped  like  an 
egg  with  the  tip  of  the  broad  end  ciitolT,  grow 
around  the  edge  of  the  top  oval,  precisely  as 
vour  fingers  stick  up  from  the  main  part  of 
your  outspread  b.and.  They  appear  tielicious, 
and  so  tliev  are;  but  the  fuzzy  spines  which 
cluster  over  them  will  torment  you  terribly,  if 
von  are  not  exceedinglv  delicate  in  your  move- 
ments. The  Pi  Utc  takes  a  bunch  of  fine  grass, 
and  gently  dusts  oil"  all  these  sjiines  before  he 
plucks  the  truit.  He  collects  a  large  quantity, 
which  he  takes  to  his  camp,  where  the  juice  is 
pressed  out,  and  collected  in  wicker  jugs.  The 
pulp  that  remains  is  rolled  up  compactly,  and 
put  awav  for  dessert,  while  the  juice  ferments, 
and  forms  a  kind  of  wine,  upon  which  they 
very  often  get  intoxicated. 

"The  'ooseappl'^'  grows  abuiulantly.  in 
large  clusters,  on  another  species  of  yucca, 
and  looks  temptingly  luscious  in  August,  when 
they  ripen,  and  turn  to  a  rich  L;olden  color. 
Thev  are  long  in  shape.  —  a  little  like  a  cu- 
cumber,—  and  onl;  the  outside  is  lit  to  eat. 
You  taste  them,  ami  find  tlieiii  to  be  so  very 
sweet  that  they  nauseate  you.  making  you 
wonder  how  anvbodv  can  manage  to  cat  them  ; 


notwithstanding,  some  people,  who  get  used 
to  them,  think  they  are  better  than  any  other 
fruit. 

••  Pifion  pine  nuts  grow  in  cones,  examples 
of  which  you  find  hanging  to  the  trees  around 
here;   so  I  will  say  nothing  more  about  them. 

"  With  a  tew  wildcats,  birds,  and  scpiirrels, 
and  rats,  the  things  I  have  enumerateil  con- 
stitute the  food  of  the  Pi  Ute  division  of  some 
noble  retl  men." 

Here  1  again  make  a  skip  to  where  the  (ien- 
eral  begins  the  description  of  a  Pi  Ute  da. ice. 

'•Round  a  cedar  tree,  stripped  of  all  its  fo- 
liage but  a  tuft  at  the  top,  the  Indians  were 
circling,  in  that  sidling  double-sluifTle  so  pe- 
culiar, accompanied  by  their  monotonous  sing- 
ing, sounding  all  alike  to  a  stranger,  but  every 
song  having  a  definite  set  of  words. 

"In  some  of  the  wicky-ups,  before  Haring 
fires,  sat  men  and  women  dresseil  in  their  gay- 
est attire,  and  with  their  faces  hideously  paint- 
ed ill  vellow,  red.  and  black,  who  were  laugh- 
ing and  chatting  as  merrily  as  happy  children 
on  Christmas  morning.  All  was  gayety  and 
hullabaloo.  We  ilistributed  presents  of  to- 
bacco and  vermilion,  heightening  their  hap- 
piness considerably.  The  •poet'  announced 
new  songs,  and  they  howled  away  at  them  in 
their  broken-jawed  manner,  keeping  time  with 
great  accuracy, 'in  the  circular  toggle-jointed 
quickstep,  round  the  dismantled  cedar. 

■■  .Some  of  mv  companions  elbowed  their 
way  into  the  circle,  and  hobbled  around,  for 
the  novelty  of  the  tiling;  but  the  rest  of  us 
didn't  relish  such  close  proximity  to  them. 
When  asked  why  we  diil  not  also  participate, 
we  said  we  did  not  like  dancing  —  it  was 
against  our  i)rinci|)les. 

'■I  will  sing  you  two  or  three  of  their  songs. 
They  are  always  short,  but   are  rejieated  over 
I  and  over  again,  with  luimbjness  variations. 

'  C.i  sli.iliuin  p"(iki. 
C.i  siMliiiii)  te  l^i, 
Cii  sh.il^un)  pnnUi, 
Ca  sii.iUuin  tu  lei,' 

and    so  forth.      Another. 

•  '  MoiiifrLJ  m.i,  .McKiuniiicUi  m.i, 
Uinp.i  slni,  s!urr.i-;.;.i-vii, 
Unip.i  sliu,  shu-r.i-j;ii-v.i, 
Unipiiga  V.I,  slui-r.»-g.»-va, 
MoiUcrei  iiM,  Mu(iu<iiitL-ki  ma,* 

and  so  forth.      ■  Kaniuss.'  another.  ' 

'  'I'.i  sii  wniit  tcie  pump  pi  ava, 
'  'I'ou  gunt  tc  I.it>, 

'I'a  sii  wtmt  tfx;  .uiirnp  i>i  ava, 
ToL'  ^unt  te  lats. * 

.Vnd.  lastly,  one  which  I  consider  a  leillv  me- 


I3S 


THE    CAMl'    IN    Tin:    cjri.cii. 


lociious  composition.  Hi'-^innin;;  low,  the  soul; 
yraduallv  rises  aiicl  tails,  tliusi v  :  — 

'  \'.lh.  y.ili,  fiiii-fii-in,  qtu'rii-in,  qncen  ut, 
(Jllt?un-ic>.  t]Mci*ii-i'i,  v.lll,  >.ilt.  ()iM'<-M-i<t, 
(Jm'LMi-.ifii  I't'iiK-y,  quei'n-iii,  (luccn  am  pooney. 
<^tu.  t;ll-ii',  \.ifi.  \- th,  qiitjv'ri-ln.' 

and  so  I'orlli. 

"  Now  I  will  tr;iii-lato.  Tiu'  tiist  soni;  means 
that  von  nnist  latili  a  ral  l)it  bcfon.'  von  cat 
him.  or.  -No  rahhit  kill,  no  ral)liit  eat.'  The 
seeoiiil  is  of  oliscure  meanini;.  It  is  some- 
tliini;  alxml  a  lon<i  talk,  and  borini;  a  hole  in 
a  ililV:  so  it  is  sate  to  loneliide  that  it  means 
that  a  loni;  talk  i^  a  L;ival  bore.  Tl.e  third  is,  — 

*  W'hi'ii  tlvj  iiiDniiiig  IS  ill  the  sky, 
Tlii'ii  tlic  imlriciiiliy  l.ils  —  ' 

lats  is  the  I'le  name  lor  the  Mojaves,  and 
means  •  heantil'nl  men.'  The  son;,'  relates  tlie 
lei;end  ot'  the  wais  with  the  hits,  u  ho  ponneeil 
upon  them  at  beak  of  dav.  The  t'ourth  ex- 
ample advises  \(ni  to  examine  a  stranj^er's 
traek  well  hel'ore  von  trnst  him,  and  is  well 
represented  by  the  proverb.  ■  Hel'ore  3011  make 
a  I'rienil,  eat  a  peek  of  salt  with  him.'  Anotii- 
er  soiiu;  loi,!  about  how  the  j^reat  mountain 
was  siek  and  trembled,  meaning  the  eruption 
ol'  Ml.  .San  I'raiu  i^i  .  . 


•■  .Still  another  sin^s,  •  Durini;  the  storm  the 
waters  pour  down  the  moimtaiu  jjulches  in 
leathery  torrents;'  aiul  so  forth,  anil  so  on, 
many  of  the  ruile  words  expressin'j;  a  world  of 
noetrv." 

We  next  listened  to  more  tales  of  inter.-st  in 
regard  to  thi;  noble  red  men  —  how  the  ghos*s 
of  old  women,  in  the  forms  of  "  Woonupiiz," 
daneed  around  in  'he  ilarki^  ^s  about  the  reil 
men's  eamps  :  how  they  sang  at  intervals,  to 
break  the  eharm  of  this  ••  W'oonnpitz  :  "  how 
•■  7'<iT-i<ii/<ir<,;/ii//iiiii/i  "  performed  great  mira- 
cles with  his  terrible  fire-ball  wieldeil  in  his 
let't  hand,  and  a  host  of  other  things,  ■■  too 
numerous  to  mention." 

The  (ieneral  iiineluded  with  an  ;ipologv  for 
not  making  his  lecture  better:  b. it  we  assured 
him  liiat  he  deserved  a  gold  medal,  and  should 
have  one —  provided  we  could  tind  the  gold. 

■•  Well."  he  said,  with  tiiat  peculiar  sparkle 
of  hi-  blight  eyes,  as  he  took  .1  fresh  ••chaw  " 
of  the  vile  weed.  '•  I  resign  this  rostrum,  with- 
out aninify.ity,  to  my  illustrious  successor.  ' 

The  remnant  of  the  autumn  days  glided  h\', 
pleasantly  interspersed,  for  variety's  sake,  by 
our  alternating  lectures,  until  word  came  over 
the  mountain  for  us  to  change  our  base  :  and 
next  •nonth  you  shall  bear  about  ••  Last  Days 
—  Fure'vell  —  Old  Friends." 


Tin;  Iii.-.\Ti:Rs'  Camp. 


-- 


;  tho  stoi  111  the 
in  Ljiilclics  in 
li.  ami  so  oil, 
iiii,'  a  world  of 

s  of  iiitor.'st  in 
low  tlie  ghosts 
•  Woonupiiz," 
;  alioiit  "lie  ivtl 
,t  intervals,  to 
nupitz ;  "  how 
t'(l  j;ivat  niiia- 
viiUloil  in  his 
thinijs,  ■•  too 

m  ;ip()loij_v  for 
'.It  wo  assiircd 
lal.  aiui  should 
lul  tho  t;()l(l. 
■oiiliar  sparkle 
frosh  ■•  ohaw  " 
rostrum,  with- 
.  Miooossor.  ' 
avs  '.^lidod  hy, 
iotv'.s  sako.  hy 
ord  oamo  over 
our  base ;  and 
It  '•  Last  Davs 


THE     CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH, 


Hello,    Hoys!"     I'agc   142. 


THE  OAMP  IN  THE  GULCH. 

VI.  — LAST  DAYS.     FAREWELIj.    OLD 
FRIENDS. 

IIY  JUSTIN    U.\LE. 

DAYS  in  the  i,'iiloh  passod  pleasantly  hy 
Evenings  wore  ilevotcil,  as  I  have  shown, 
to  a  system  of  lectures,  orjjanized  both  for 
pleasure  and  profit.  Still  there  was  a  Ionis- 
ing to  cross  the  iviountain.  aiul  join  our  oUl 
friends  once  more;  and  as  the  autumn  days 
drew  to  a  close,  this  longing  grew  more  in- 
tense. The  interval  of  idleness  had  been  re- 
freshing, but  now  was  getting  tiresome.  Tlie 
days  were  filled  with  perpetual  sunshine.  It 
was  monotonous  ;  and  wo  thought  that  at'ter 
crossing  the  great  plateau,  we  niigi..  Iind  a 
^torm,  —  a  blustering  storm,—  for  vr.rioty. 

It  came  to  pass  that  we  liid  not  have  to  wait 
till  we  could  get  on  the  western  slope  of  the 
kibab  for  a  storm.  One  day,  at  evening,  the 
sun  had  to  push  his  way  behind  the  mountain 
through  a  mass  of  mil  gray  clouds,  which 
cut  olT  his  "good-night"  rays  much  earlier 
than  usual.  They  crept  slowly  over  the  sky, 
and  when  in  the  zenith,  leathery  llakes  flut- 
tered into  the  gulch,  and  the  valley  was  hid- 
den from  our  sight  by  the  curtain  of  '•  beauti- 
ful snow." 


When  we  are  conilbrtably  sheltered,  what  a 
charm  there  is  in   storm,  and  especially  in  u 
snow-storm  which  steals  upon  us  so  softly,  so 
gently,  and.  seemingly,  so  harmlessly.  Though 
one  may  be  shivering  with  cold,  if  he  observe 
tho  waviring  flakes,  of  such  delicate  construc- 
tion, he  must  exclaim,  '•Ueautiful  snow!"    If 
not  of  a  pootii;al  turn  of  mind,  though,  he  will 
fiil  to  be  interested  in  a  snow-storm,  o-  any 
other,  unless,  as  I  said  flrst,  he  is  comfort.abiy 
sholtored.     Seated  in    a   cosy  parlor,  perh,aps, 
readinglhestoryof  some  traveller's  wandering, 
and  ever  and  anon  glancing  out  of  the  window 
to  admire  the  large  flakes  as  they  pile  up  in  the 
street  and  on  the  root's  of  the  houses.    At  such 
times,  as  he  reads  exciting  events,  he  th'nks 
how  nice  it  would  be  braving  this  storm,  or  hav- 
ing this  or  that  narrow  escape   from   destruc- 
tion ;  or  what  a  great  thing  it  would  be  to  have 
a  skirmish  with  the  Indians.    It  is  astonishing 
how  ipiiik  the  singing  bullet  or   the  whiz/ing 
arrow    I  ikL's    the    romantic   starch    out  of  all 
tho-o  ideas,  and  leaves  them  to  stand  support- 
ed only  by  the  bare  facts  —  anything  but  pleas- 
ant. 

Thinking  over  the  Captain's  lecture  on  the 
Unknown  Rivoi.  you  imagine  it  to  have  been 
delightful  to  sail  along  between  the  grand  old- 
walls,  or  to  enjoy  the   exeilem<  nt  of  running 
a  rapid;    but  once   become   ini'.iated  in  these 


^mtKfvmtHummm 


140 


Till-     CAMP    IN    THE    GULCH. 


scenes,  and  you  would  quickly  wish    voursclf 
back  ajjain. 

When  you  read  Robinson  Crusoe,  diil  vou 
not  think  he  had  an  enviously  '•splendid" 
time  all  alone  on  his  desert  isle.'  Or  have  vou 
not  often  wished  yourself  a  member  of  the 
"  Swiss  Family  Robinson."  to  roam  f'reclv  over 
the  tropical  Eden.'  The  fault  is,  that  in  con- 
siderinir  these  ^ubjccts,  we  ma'^nify  the  ple.is- 
nres  and  diminish  the  dampers  and  discom- 
forts, till  all  appears  in  the  same  light  —  a  li-^ht 
of  overdrawn  imaafination. 

From  these  words  my  readers  draw  this  con- 
clusion :  "  T//rrc  1.1  no  flare  like  home.  ; "  and 
if  you  are  so  fortunate  as  to  hav  a  home,  mv 
advice  is,  stay  there  and  he  liapp  .  instead  of 
wishing  to  be  somewhere  else — "  lo  ehnsc 
the  antelope  over  the  plain,"  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing;  for  '-a  rolling  stone  gathers  n(, 
moss;"  and  if  you  once  get  started  at  this 
wandering  life,  you  will  never  be  content  in 
one  place. 

But  it  is  not  my  intention  to  inveigle  vou 
into  reading  a  sugar-coated  sermon  :  so.  beg- 
ging pardon  for  the  digression.  I  return  to  the 
camp  in  the  gulch. 

The  snow-storin  which  drew  me  into  the 
above  remarks  prevented  us  from  cnjoving  the 
evening  in  the  open  air.  and  we  took  advan- 
tage of  the  shelter  atTorded  by  our  little  tent. 

The  pros|5eets  were  that  we  should  have  to  { 
crawl  between    the   blankets  ratl.^i"  carlv.   in 
preference   to   sitting   in  darkness,    or  in    the 
?now  by  the  declining  fire.     Imagine  our  sur-  I 
prise  when   the   Captain   drew  from    his  little 
"ditty-box"    almost    the    half    of    a   candle,  j 
Where  he   had  picked    it  up    would    be  hard  | 
to  state.     He  was   one   of  those  persons  who  I 
have   a  place   for  everything,  and   invariablv  ' 
put  everything  in  its  place.  | 

The  valuable  bit  of  candle  was  lit.  and  tiirew  ' 
a  warming,  mellowradiance  through  the  storm-  1 
as.sailed  house.     Following  up  his  triumph  of  ' 
the  candle,  the  Captain  produced  three  or  four 
copies  of  monthly  magazines,   old    numbers, 
which  had  been  received  by  mail  months   be- 
fore, and  slimg    into    a   corner    of   some  old 
camp,  after  a   hasty  perusal,  to   decay  unmo- 
lested.    Yet  here  they  were,  tied  up  in  a  neat 
bundle, — thanks  to  the  Captain's   character- 
istic trait.  — and  we  were  glad  enough  to  take 
them,  and  read  the  articles  which    before  •'   ul 
been    skipped    in    the    alnmdauce    of  reading 
matter. 

We  read  along,  ami  became  interested  in 
various  compositions,  not  noticing  the  lliglit 
of  time.  At  last  the  Captain,  happening  to 
glance  at  the  pocket  chronometer  hanging  to 


the  standard,  announced  tliat  it  was  nine 
o'clock,  and  stepped  out  to  take  a  barometri- 
cal observation.  He  stopped  by  the  door 
\vhen  he  returned,  and  said,  as  he  ;  hook  the 
snow  oir,  — 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is.  boys,  this  /'.?  a  cosy 
little  pl.ice,"  entering.  ••  I  wonder  how  much 
longer  we  will  have  to  stay  here  !  .Seems  to 
me  about  time  that  orders  came  to  us  to  pull 
up  stakes,  and  come  on." 

"  So  it  does  to  me,"  said  the  Pirate;  -'and 
accordingly  I  want  to  proclaim  a  revelation 
which  I  have  had  in  regard  to  the  matter.  Mv 
vision  shows  me  that  this  storm  will  not  la--! 
long.  To-morrow  will  le  warm,  and  the  snow 
will  melt,  and  before  dark  a  messenger  will 
arrive  with  advices." 

"You  base  your  revelation  on  substantial 
groiuid.  and  I  see  no  reason  why  it  should  fail 
ai.y  more  than  succeed.  It's  time  some  one 
came ;  and  I  say,  tell  them  to  come  as  quick  as 
lliev  will.  I,  for  one.  am  getting  tired  of  this 
place.  I've  explored  the  whole  valley,  and 
half  the  kibah.  Don't  know  what  to  do  next, 
in  the  daytime.  About  the  time  hard  weather 
sets  in,  we'll  have  to  be  staving  around  the 
country.  That's  ju-t  the  way  it  goes."  growled 
the  General. 

"  You  wait  until  to-morrow-night,"  the  Pi- 
rate rep'lied.  ••and  you  will  pronounce  me  a 
'  pro|ihet'/rf/-  excellence." 

•'  We'll  have  to  wait,  whether  we  want  to  or 
not,"  observed  the  Captain,  looking  up  from 
the  magazine,  which  had  again  absorbed 
him. 

'  Then,"  said  I,  "  let  us  pass  several  hours 
of  ihe  time  exploring  in  Dreamland,  for  it  is 
not  too  early  to  turn  in ;  the  tent  begins  to  feel 
collier,  and  Cap  wants  to  save  a  fragment  of 
his  candle  for  another  emergencv." 

"True,"  exclaimed  the  Captain.  "I  will 
give  you  just  two  minutes  and  a  half  to  get 
untler  cover." 

At  the  end  of  that  time  not  a  sound  was 
heard  but  the  wild  moan  of  the  wind,  as  it 
Hew  arouiulthe  sharp  corners  of  the  clifTs,  and 
the  musical  snore  of  the  Pirate,  in  rivalry. 

Clear  and  cold  came  the  morning.  The 
clouds  h,id  disappeared,  verifying  a  portion 
of  the  Pirate's  prophecy.  The  snow  on  a  level 
was  only  a  few  inches  deep,  and.  as  it  adorned 
the  reiklish  hills,  recalled  to  my  mind  the  va- 
rieties of  Christmas  pastry,  which  we  boys 
used  to  admire  in  the  window  of  a  little  bakery 
around  the  corner  from  my  old  home. 

Northward,  on  the  trail  over  the  hills,  tram- 
pling down  the  imitation  "  frosting,"  I  took  a 
walk,  when  the  sun  was  well   up,  for  exercise. 


THE    CAMP    IN    Tin:    f.ULCII. 


141 


It  It  was  nine 
a  baromi'tri- 
by  the  door 
he    ehook  the 

til  is  is  .1  cosy 
ider  how  much 
re!  See  ins  to 
e  to  us  to  pull 

Pirate  ;  •'  and 
1  a  revelation 
le  matter.  Mv 
I  will  not  la'-t 
,  and  the  snow 
ticssenger  will 

3n  substantial 
y  it  sliould  fail 
iinc  some  one 
me  as  quick  as 
ig  tired  of  this 
le  vallcv,  and 
lat  to  do  next. 
;  hard  weather 
Ig  around  the 
roes,"  growled 

i^'ht,"'  the  Pi- 
jnouncc  mc  a 

we  want  to  or 
kinj,'  up  from 
ain     absorbed 

several  hours 

iland,  for  it  is 

bej,'ins  to  feel 

fragment  of 

y-" 

ain.  "  I  will 
a   half  to  get 

a  sound  was 
le  wind,  as  it 
the  clifTs,  and 
in  rivalry, 
orning.  The 
iig  a  portion 
low  on  a  level 
as  it  adorned 
mind  the  va- 
liich  we  boys 
a  little  bakery 
lome. 

le  hills,  trani- 
ing,"  I  took  a 
,  for  exercise. 


I  had  not  gone  far  before   n   large  grav  wolf  the  discovery  was   made,  he    was   putting  the 

made  his  appearance,  and  trotted    along  in  a  mixture  into  a  small  tin  pan. 

parallel  course,  a  few  yards  o(T.  for  some  dis-  -  Perhaps  youll   laugh   the   other  way.  my 

tance.     He  held  his  head  down,  in    a  bashful  friend,  when  this  cake  is  baked,  and  you   tind 

sort  of  a  way,  and  licked  his  chops,  as  mucli  you  cant  have  any." 

"I  am    sorry,   for    it    looks  delicious.     Hut 

this  is  a  cold  morning,  and  not  where  did  you  get   the   recipe.'"   inquired  the 


Pirate,  sarcastically. 

•■  lies-iper  ''    Whafsthat?     O,  you  mean 
receipt." 

The  General  had  a   habit,  at   times,  of  pre- 
tending to  be  very  ignorant. 

No,  I   don't   mean    receipt,  either.     A   re- 


Well."  laui^luil  tlie(ieiHM:il,  "1  didn't  have 
a  written  acknowledgment  for  the  gingerbread, 
but  perhaps  I'll  wn 

■•Then,  did  ^ 
tion.>" 


ne  before  I  get  through, 
ve  a  recipe  —  a  prescrip- 


ns  to  say, — 

•'Uglil  but 
a  rabbit  can  I  llnd  anywhere.  Ton  l.)ok  ten- 
der and  tempting,  and  for  two  cents,  or  less, 
I'd  prepare  you  for  my  dinner.  So  look  out !  " 
Thinks  h  "  Well,  Mr.  Wolf,  you're  an  im- 
pudent   vagabond,    aiiy   way,    to   become  my 

companion   on   mv  morning's   stroll,   without  ^_ 

so  much  as  barking  good  morning;  and  had  I  ;  ceipt  is  a  written  ^';l^"";^'''''-";'^^'_";  ~  ,_  , 
mv  rifle  here,  I  would  play  you  a  nice  tune  to 
nice  by.     You   are   gaunt  and  shaggy,  and 
would  make  a  fine  target." 

My  gun  was  safe  in  camp,  and  all  I  unild 
do  was  to  throw  stones  at  the  vicious-looking 
creature.  At  this  he  reconsidered  the  matter, 
and  slunk  away  over  the  verge  of  a  hill.  I 
concluded  my  walk,  and  returned  to  camp, 
without  seeing  a  sign  of  another  animate  be- 
ing, except  the  tracks  of  coyotes  and  rabbits. 
I  found  that  the  Pirate  had  been  out  in  a  south- 
erly direction. 

"  If  I  had  only  had  my  gun  this  morning! 
but  it's  just  my  hick  to  be  without  it  when  I 
want  it.  A  coyote  was  coming  along  the  same 
way  I  was,  and  he  paid  no  more  attention  to 
me  than  he  would  if  1  had  been  a  cedar  tree. 
It  made  me  mad.  I  hit  him  in  the  side  with 
a  big  rock,  and  he  picked  himself  up  and 
walked  ofl'." 

I  related  my  interview. 

"  It  is  indeed  time  that  we  were  moving  away 
from  here,  if  cowardly  coyotes  are  getting  so 
bold.     They'll  eat  one  of  you  delicate  fellows  |  ■•rcnnn  tlirouKh  .i  mass  of  hnr.l  i.rnnchi-s." 

up  yet,  if  vou  don't  mind  your  eyes."  remarked 

(^jjp  ■  "  "  A  prescription.'     .No.  1  made  my  own  pre- 

"I  don't  believe  these  are  coyotes  that  we  I  scription.  But  no  wonder  an  ex-prescription 
saw  this  morning,"  I  said.  "They  are  too  j  druggist  got  ahead  of  me  on  recipe.  I,  being 
large,  and  the  one  I  saw  was  a  dirty  gray  nothing  but  an  old  backwoodsman,  can't  uti- 
color.  I  think  they  are  mountain-wolves,  derstand  recipe,  when  I've  always  heard  it 
driven  from  the  timber  to  the  warmer  vail  y  ^  pronounced  receipt." 
by  last  nif    .t's  snow."  \       "  You  heard  it  pronounced  wrong,  then." 

"Youn..stbe  right,  for   something  larger         "Nevermind;   it  won't  make  the  cake  any 
than  an  ordinary  coyote  reached  two  or  three     better, 
of  my  skins  hut  night,  and  I  can't  find  a  shred         This  ended  the  recipe  argument 


of  them."  said  Cap.       "  What  are  you  laugh 
ing  at.'"  to  the  Pirate. 

"Why,    the   General's    making   a    ginger- 
bread !  " 

And   so   he  was.     He   had  found   a  can   of 
amo 


It  was  a 
regular  source  of  amusement  in  camp —  this 
controversy  un  words.  If  one  mispronounced 
a  word,  either  through  c.irelessness  or  igno- 
rance, some  one  was  sure  instantly  to  challenge 
lim;  and,  unless   he  confessed   his   error,  he 


ginger  amongst   the   rations,  and   had  stirred     was  called  upon    to   dispute    the  authority  of 
up  some  flour,  and  water,  and  cream  of  tartar,     several   editions    of  Webster,   with    which  we 
and   saleratus,  and   sugar,  to  which  he   added  \  were,  fortunately,  only  loo  well  supplied, 
about  one  half  the  ginger.     At   the   moment        The   General's   gingerbreai    baked  slowly. 


142 


THK     CAMP    IN     Tin:     Gl'LCII. 


It  wiis  not  (lone  till  lonsj  after  ilimipr;  ami  we 
cnni-Jiidi'd  to  keep  it  tor  supper.  (lr>-t  samplini,' 
it,  to  see  tliat  it  was  jjooil.  It  was  a  little 
••sad.'"  and  rather  sweet;  but  we  called  it 
•'  double-extra." 

The  afternoon  passed  quirklv  awav.  and 
another  pr)int  of  the  Pirate's  propheiv  was 
fullilled:  it  ijrew  so  warm  fliat  the  lew  inches 
of  snow  disappeared  rapidly.  As  it  turned 
cold  asjain  towards  evening,  the  nieltin}; 
ceased,  leavinj;  patches  of  snow  for  'o-mor- 
row's  sun  to  act  upon.     Supper  time  came. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  your  brilliant  reve- 
lation now.  my  friend.'"  asked  the  CJeneral  of 
the  Pirate. 

"  I  said  he  would  come  before  dark  ;  and  it 
isn't  dark  yet.      I  have  a  chance  lel't." 

"A  niiylit\  slim  otu',"  said  the  Captain. 

I  was  iu'-t  raisincr  ;i  piece  of  ^jiiiyerbread  to 
my  mouth,  when  1  happened  to  ijlance  to- 
wards the  hills  boundint;  the  south-western 
Side  of  the  K>'li"b.  Twilight's  linm-rini;  ravs 
still  illumined  the  sky  with  a  soft  liKlit,  and 
against  thi>  backjirouml  I  saw  the  form  of  a 
huge  animal  loom  up.  Hoping  that  it  might 
be  my  morning  friend,  I  exclaimed.  •'  Look 
there  !"  and.  snatching  my  rifle,  hurried  uji. 
The  animal  was  gone  when  I  arrived  at  the 
point.  I  hunted  around  some:  but  the  twi- 
light rapidly  faded,  compelling  me  to  go  back. 

Hardly  had  I  reached  a  position  halfway  to 
the  camp,  when  I  heard  a  long,  familiar  yell 
echo  faintly  from  lar  up  the  valley.  An  in- 
stant more,  and  I  was  beside  the  tire. 

■■  Did  you  hear  thnt?'    I  asked. 

"  What .'     We  didii't  liear  anything." 

"  Li.sten." 

All  was  silent  a  moment;  then  we 
"  E-e-e-i-i-i-hooo-o-o  "  die  away  anion 
rocks. 

"Johnson  I  "  they  exclaimed. 

It  was  the  looked-for  messenger. 

"Now.  ain't  I  a  jiropliet .' "  asked  the  Pi- 
rate. 

"  It's  dark.  '  said  Cap. 

"  O,  you  can't  expect  me  to  make  too  close 
a  connection.  You  must  be  generous,  and  al- 
low that  I  am  endowed  with  extraordinarv 
power.  Remember  that  I  wasn't  among  the 
Mormons  t'or  nothing." 

"Very  well;   hereal'ter  vou  shall  be  Proijbet 


hjard. 

L!st  the 


instead  of  Pirate.  Does  that  suit  you.'"  in- 
quired Cap. 

"  It  does." 

"  Hello,  boys  !  "  shouted  Johnson,  as  he  rode 
into  the  gulch,  leading  a  pack-animal.  "  How 
are  you  all,  any  way.'" 

He  dismounted,  and  the  tinkling  of  his  large 
Mexican  spurs  soundedlike  the  ornaments  on 


NH 


the  coat  of  St.  Xicholns.  as  he  handed  u»  « 
package  01  Irtters.  The  pack  was  soon  otT, 
and  in  the  alfogas  we  discovered  some  apples, 
a  canteen  of  native  wine,  and  some  ilried 
grapes. 

The  mail  first  claimed  attention;  but  after 
it,  we  gathered  closer  to  the  tire,  to  talk  mat- 
ters over,  and  eat  fruit.  Ordeis  were  tobr.ak 
the  camp  in  the  gulch,  and  move  to  a  spring 
in  a  low  line  of  cliffs,  fifteen  miles  from  the 
western  verge  of  the  pl.iteau.  It  was  now  Sat- 
urday night.  .Sunday  we  concluiletl  to  spend 
in  getting  things  arranged;  and  Monday 
morning  we  would  -tart  for  oin-  new  camp. 
The  Sabbath  sun  beamed  peacefully  upon 
the  quiet  little  camp,  and  by  noon  we  had 
everything  as  much  in  order  as  was  possible. 
The  alternoon  passed  off  as  (juietly  as  usual, 
anil  in  the  evening,  Johnson  —  who  hailed 
from  Oregon  ;  had  mined  and  prospected  on 
Snake  River,  and  in  ditVeient  parts  of  Idaho 
—  related  stories  of  his  adventures  with  In- 
dians; told  us  of  the  wonderful  rich  leads  lie 
had  owned  at  varitui--  limes;  how  he  had  once 
ridden  an  elk  on  a  wager;  and  how  he  had 
hunted  six  months  t'or  "The  Lost  Cabin,"* 
but  failed  to  tind  it;  tolil  us  such  tales  as  a 
miner  would  tell  who  had  "  rustled  sage  ''  from 
childhood,  and  who  had  spent  at  least  two 
tliirils  of  his  lite  in  the  saddle. 

At  last  it  came  bed-time  once  more,  and  our 
last  evening  at  tiK  camp  in  the  gulch  was 
ended.  Until  to-morrow  we  would  sink  into 
the  oblivion  ol'  sleep,  from  which  we  should 
wake  to  take  our  departure.  How  soon  to- 
morrow is  to-day.  and  to-day  isyesterdavl 
Sunshine  had  scarce  crept  into  the  gulch  eie 
oLM-  tent  was  struck  and  our  packs  were  rcailv. 
Hut  think  us  not  too  smart.  Owing  to  the 
height  of  the  cliffs,  the  sunlight  did  not  enter 
the  gulch  till  about  nine  o'clock.  Still  our 
start  would  have  been  early,  as  it  should  have 
been  to  make  thirty  miles,  and  to  climb  up 
and  down  many  times,  had  it  not  been  tor  two 
bronchos  which  refused  to  be  caught.  We  had 
to  resort  to  the  lariat,  which  we  trietl  to  avoiil, 
as  it  makes  a  wild  animal  all  the  wilder,  iohn- 
son  easily  threw  a  lasso  on  each  ol  them,  and 
we  led  them  down  to  the  site  of  our  oklcamp, 
where  the  packs  were  slung  on,  sinched  on, 
and  sinched  as  tightly  as  our  strength  would 
permit. 

One  moment  more,  and  our  ritlin';  saddles 
were  on;  the  train  formed  in  inie.  and  filed 
slowly  out  of  the  gulch,  and  away  from  the 
spot  whose  every  stone  had  become  familiar 


*  For  tlie  story  of  "  Tlw;  Lost  Cabin, "  I  refer  any  who  are 
intertsted  to  .i  number  uf  the  Ovcilanil  Monthly,  for  about 
Dc^-mber,  1S72. 


It  handed  ii»  « 
L  uas  soon  oir, 
;d  some  apples, 
nd    some   diicil 

tion  ;  but  alter 
"e,  to  talk  niat- 
18  were  tobr;ak 
)ve  to  a  spring 
miles  from  the 
If  w;is  now  Sat- 
liuletl   to  spend 

and  Monday 
lur  new  camp, 
eacefully  upon 

noon  we  liad 
s  was  possible, 
lietlv  as  usual, 

—  who    hailed 

prospected  on 
parts  of  Idaho 
tures  with  In- 
1  rich  leads  lie 
)W  ho  had  once 
id  how  he  had 
Lost  Cabin,"  ♦ 
uch  tales  lis  a 
led  sai^e  '  from 
t    at   least  t\vo 

!  more,  and  our 
he  gulch  was 
ould  sink  into 
lich  we  should 
How  soon  to- 
■  is  yesterday  ! 
1  the  gulch  ei'e 
ks  were  ready. 
Owing  to  the 
t  did  not  enter 
ock.  Still  our 
it  should  have 
d  to  climb  up 
ot  been  tor  I  wo 
ught.  We  had 
tried  to  avoid, 
wilder,  fohn- 
1  ot  them,  and 
"our  ok!  camp, 
n,  sinched  on, 
itrengtii  would 

ritliii';  saddles 
iiiie.  and  llled 
way  from  the 
come  familiar 


THIC     CAMP     IN     THE     GULCH. 


'f.i 


refer  any  wlio  are 
Montlily,  for  about 


to  our  eyes.  It  seemed  hard  to  de-ert  the 
place,  and  leave  it  to  the  coyotes  and  the 
ravens.  I  looked  behind  as  we  reached  the 
summit  of  the  bounding  hill,  to  catch  a  tare- 
well  view  of  the  rock-bound  home. 

There  was  the  square  of  yellow  canes  which 
had  cushioned  our  tent;  the  little  pine  close 
to  the  fire;  the  stone  scats;  the  trail  to  the 
spring.  All  was  lying  tpiiet  as  the  grave,  and 
made  me  feel  as  though  I  were  miles  away. 
Down  poured  the  sun  with  his  usual  steadi- 
ness; lazily  little  wreaths  of  stnoke  curled  up 
from  the  smouldering  fne.  A  raven  sailed  up, 
and  perched  silently  on  the  pine  where  o'.w 
beef  had  hung.  Another,  with  motionless 
wings,  sail  ',  in  and  out  of  the  angles  of  the 
clifTs,  uttering  a  shout  of,  "Go-on,  go-on,  go- 
on I  "  The  advice  was  useless.  The  hills  and 
trees  shut  olT  the  picture,  and  we  were  fairly 
at  sea.  In  a  sliort  time  we  climbed  the  kibab.  — 
where  our  advance  party  had  ascended,  —  and 
entered  the  forest. 

Johnson  said  that  one  of  the  party  had  en- 
countered a  world  of  trouble.  lie  was  wear- 
ing a  broadcloth  coat,  which  iiad  done  service 
at  his  wedding  some  year,  before,  and  wliiih 
he  prized  very  highly.  He  thought  it  would 
be  romantic  to  wear  it  through  this  country; 
it  would  add  to  its  value  as  a  family  relic.  The 
horse  he  rode  must  have  thought  that  a  few 
honorable  rents  would  also  add  to  its  value. 
for  he  persisted  in  going  as  close  to  the  sharp- 
pointed  dead  branches  of  the  cedars  as  he 
could  without  doing  himself  injury.  So  it  was 
that  this  man  with  the  wedding-coat  had  to 
keep  a  sharp  lookout.  As  long  as  he  watched 
him,  the  horse  behaved  very  well,  and  his  rider 
would  begin  to  think  that  all  was  going  on 
right,  and  would  relapse  into  fond  recollec- 
tions of  distant  home  and  friends,  gradually 
slacking  the  reins  till  the  cuyoose  had  his 
head.  Then,  the  first  thing  he  knew,  he  would 
find  himself  tearing  through  a  mass  of  hard 
branches  ;  atul  while  the  old  coat  yielded  in 
dozens  of  places  without  a  sigh,  its  wearer 
struggled  hard  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
broken  limbs  that  clung  to  him,  and  the 
mountain-glades  shouted  back  with  exasper- 
ating intensity  the  laughter  of  his  companions 
and  his  own  unliuiitcd  curses.  By  the  time  he 
got  through  the  timber  his  dear  old  coat  was 
minus  half  a  sleeve,  part  of  the  tail  was  gone, 
and  there  was  not  a  foot  of  uninjured  material 
to  be  found  in  it. 

Although  we  regretted  our  old  friend's  mis- 
fortune exceedingly,  we  could  not  help  enjoy- 
ing the  story  of  his  troubles,  lie  was  an  ab- 
surdly cccenfic  fellow  any  way ;    but   his  best 


"  hold"  was  swearing.  lie  swore  so  well  that 
it  was  only  at  extraordinary  times  that  any 
one  else  was  called  upon  to  atfc-mpt  tin-  feat. 
lie  never  started  in  for  a  few  milil  exclama- 
tions —  not  he.  The  way  he  did  it  was  to  reel 
out  yard  after  yard  of  blasphemy,  until  he  was 
obliged  to  stop  for  breath.  Then  somebody 
wonlil  infpiire,  "What's  the  matter.'"'  "  O, 
nothing."  he  would  reply;  "I  can't  lind  the 
hammer,"  or,  "  My  saildle  won't  stay  sinched," 
or  something  similar. 

We  laughed  as  we  passed  trees  at  intervals, 
whose  broken  branches  recorded  the  tale  of 
the  ageil  weddin'4-c()at. 


:&^^ 


!  T\k  I'lratL'. 

On  account  of  the  great  weight  of  our  ]iacks, 
i  we  were  compelled  to  move  slowly;  and  "two 
hours  bv  sun  "  found  us  on  the  verge  of  a  Ion?, 
beautiful  valley,  not  very  deep,  but  two  miles 
j  or  more  wide.     When  we  arrived  at  its  farther 
I  side,  we   concluded  that   the   day's   work  had 
j  been  enough  for  the  stock,  and  we  would  camji. 
We  selected  a  sheltereil  s|iot  in  the  thick  ever- 
greens, and   threw  olf  the  packs.     There  was 
■  no  water;  but  small  patches  of  snow  here  and 
;  there  would  refresh  the  animals,  and  -i'c  could 
rely  on  the  filled  canteens,  besides   two  small 
water-kegs,  which  were  full. 
\      Wood  was  plentiful.     An  immense  fire  was 
quickly  bi    It.  and  shot  its  fianies  up   into  the 
:  clusters  ot  green  needles,  making  them  crackle 
;  merrily.     The   General   went   to   work  to  get 
the  supper,  with  the   assistance   of  the  Pirate, 
'  while  we  three  that  remained  took    the  horses 
out  to  an  opening,  where  there  was  good  feed, 
and  hoppled  them.     To  hopple  an  animal  is  to 
i  fasten    its    fore    legs    together,  —  about   eight 
I  inches    apart,  — just   above   the   fetlock  joint, 
i  Any  old  rope  or  strap  will  do   for   a   hopple; 
but  generally  an  "  outfit  "  has  straps  made  for 
the  purpose,  with  buckles.     The  object  in  hop- 


f 

il 


1. 14 


TIIL    CAM  I'    IN    Tilt:    {;ULCII. 


pliim,  ^<ul  can  plainly  seo,  is  to  prevent  joiir 
■tock  IrDin  wamli-rinj;  too  far,  and  to  make 
tlu'tn  easier  to  be  e;uij;lit.  Where  ifrass  jjrows 
continuouslv,  as  in  the  east,  "  pieketinj;  "  with 
a  lariat  anil  stake  wouUI  an-wtr  us  well,  per- 
liaps  better,  lint  where  the"l'eeJ"  iimsists  of 
bnneh-ffrass, — vvhieli  jjrows,  as  its  name  in- 
dieates,  in  bunches,  —  the  stock  ninst  be  al- 
lowed to  travel  in  order  to  };et  enough  to  eat, 
anil  still  must  be  cheikiil  fnim  ^,'oini;  too  far. 

When  the  aiiiiiiais  were  all  hoppleil,  we  went 
back  to  camp,  ami  touml  snp|)er  readv.  It 
does  not  take  Inui;  to  prepare  a  mountain 
tiual.  Kor  bread,  voii  mix  the  necessary 
ipiantitv  of  tlour,  a  little  saleratiis.  a  double 
aniiiiiiit  of  cream  of  tartar,  and  a  pinili  of  salt. 
Next,  add  water,  to  lorm  douijh,  and  after  it 
is  sutliclentiv  kneaded,  it  i^  •>laieil  in  a  Dutch 
oven,  which  is  tlieii  set  on  a  beil  of  live  coals; 
the  lid  is  )iMt  on,  ami  covered  with  coals, 
anil  the  bread  lelf  to  bake.  .V  Dutch  oven  is 
simply  a  llat-bottomed,  circular,  cast-iron  ar- 
rant;ement,  five  or  six  inches  deep,  and  sup- 
jilied  with  a  convex  lid. 

Sometimes  bread  is  baked  in  frvintf-pans, 
and  is  then  called  fryini;-pan  bread.  It  is  the 
easier  way,  when  the  party  consists  of  only 
three  or  four.  The  dough  is  made  into  a  thin 
cake  the  size  of  the  pan,  and  placed  in  it.  after 
the  bottom  has  been  jjreased  by  a  piece  of  ba- 
con, to  pre>  Jilt  the  loaf  tVom  stickini;;  then  it 
is  held  on  the  lire  a  moment,  to  give  the  bot- 
tom some  solidity,  after  which  it  is  propped  up 
in  front  of  the  blaze  by  a  stick,  and  soonpiilfs 
up,  or  rises,  and  bakes  through. 

At  supper  we  discussed  a  name  for  the  line 
valley  m  which  we  were  camped,  and  Johnson 
suggested  "  Summit." 

"  Summit  Valley  let  it  be.  then,"  said  the 
Captain,  "since  it  is  on  the  summit  of  the 
plateau." 

When  the  camp  w  as  arranged  for  the  night, 
a  pack  of  cards  made  their  apjiearanee  from 
Johnson's  catenas  ( pockets  on  the  horn  of  the 
saddle),  and  my  four  companions  amused 
themselves  by  i>hiying  euchre. 

For  no  particidar  reason.  I  dislike  cards,  and 
have  never  jilayed;  so  I  selected  a  si)ot  under 
a  pine,  close  to  the  fire,  which  was  cushioned 
by  the  fallen  spines,  and,  lying  down,  aban- 
doned myself  to  reverie. 

At  intervals  1  would  hear  the  I'irate  exclaim 
to  his  jiartner,  •  Now,  don't  let  them  bluiryou. 
General,  don't  let  them  blulVyou,"  and  similar 
sayings.  Following  this  ^vouldcome  the  usual 
discussion  of  card-phucrs,  as  to  whether  this 
or  that  card  had  been  played  right.  The  Gen- 
eral ought  to  ha\e  trun.ped  this,  or  jilayed  an 
ace  for  that;  Johnson  didn't  play  this  the  w.ay 


the  Captain  had  always  played  it  before,  and 
so  forth.  1  have  never  seen  a  game  played 
yet  where  there  was  not  an  astonishing  amount 
of  mulishness  shown  on  all  sille^. 

Next  morning  we  climbed  the  we^t  line  of 
the  valley,  and  after  dodging  through  more 
thick  tindier,  ami  aruunil  gulches,  we  came 
out  upon  the  almost  barren  slope.  A  scene 
spread  out  before  us  fully  equal  to  the  one 
from  the  easlirn  edge.  Mouiitains.  cai'ions, 
and  dill's, — clilVs,  canons,  and  mountains, — 
everywhere.  Johnson  pointed  out  to  us  the 
cliiVs,  lying  some  fifteen  miles  away,  wherein 
was  located  our  next  camping-ground.  When 
we  emerged  I'rom  the  t'oot-hill>,  we  found  a 
nloderately  level  bottom,  stretching  away  to 
the  clilVs. 

About  noon  we  passed  round  the  bead  of  a 
mud  canon,  which  began  abruptly  in  a  level 
space.  Had  we  not  been  fortified  h\  the  Cap- 
tain's lecture  on  the  riiknown  Kiver,  we  should 
have  been  |nizzled  as  to  why  it  had  broken  in 
so  suddenly;  but  by  thinking  a  moment,  we 
perceived  that  it  was  simply  the  last  point  to 
which  the  action  of  an  interir.itteut  creek  had 
worn  its  ••  plunge." 

As  the  sun  —  our  travelling  gauge  —  ap- 
|iroacbed  the  western  lunizon.  we  ilrew  nearer 
our  haven;  and  as  he  sank  from  sight,  we 
passed  the  first  salient  jjoint  into  a  gap  about 
a  half  a  mile  wide. 

Several  horses  were  seen  grazing'  a  short 
distance  olV,  and  we  knew  that  old  I'riends 
were  near.  Passing  a  chocolate-colored  hill, 
we  turned  to  the  right,  into  a  sheltered  gulch, 
not  unlike  that  of  House  Rock  Spring,  and. 
suddenly  emerging  I'mm  a  clum])  of  cedars, 
we  saw,  in  an  open  space,  two  heavy  w  gons, 
with  snow-white  covers  ;  a  camp-fire  ;  heaps 
of  saddles,  harnesses,  rations,  and  so  forth, 
scattered  arouiul,  and  several  individuals,  all 
ol'  whom,  but  one,  jiroved  to  be  old  friends, 
and  gave  us  a  hearty  welcome.  A  new  mail 
awaited  us,  and  so  mucli  bustle  going  on 
around  made  us  feel  almost  as  though  we  had 
entered  a  large  city. 

When  the  inner  man  was  satisfied,  blazing 
fires  started  up  in  dilferent  parts  of  the  gulch, 
and  around  them  clustered  groups  of  "gay 
anil  free  "  explorers,  some  reading  aloud,  some 
singing,  others  still  reclining  in  warm  corners, 
with  pipes  or  cigaritos  in  their  mouths,  and 
meditating;  while  the  more  practical  were  busy 
testing  new  boots,  hats,  pantaloons,  gloves,  iic. 
At  intervals  the  envious  yelps  of  the  coyotes 
from  the  brink  of  the  clilTs  resounded  tiirough 
the  camp,  umisMally  close.  They  were  always 
sure  to  be  on  b.and  wh'jn  anythinij  was  >jo- 
ing  on. 


r 


it  befoR',  ntid 
gainu  plaved 
itliiii<r  ainoiiiit 

wc'.t  line  of 
liri)iit;li  inoic 
ics,  \vc  Ciiinu 
ipc.  A  Ncoiie 
li  to  the  onu 
aiiis,  canonH, 
iioiititains,  — 
lilt  to  us  the 
wav,  wherein 
(HUid.  When 
,  we  fi)mul  a 
hing  away  to 

;lie  head  of  a 
ilv  in  a  level 
I  l)v  the  Cap- 
er, we  should 
ail  broken  in 
nionieiit,  we 
last  point  to 
jnt  creek  liad 

j,'au.!,'e  —  ap- 
•  ihew  nearer 
nil    .sit,'ht,   we 

a  gap   about 

zing"  a  short 
t  old  triends 
•colored  h.ill, 
Itered  gulch. 
Spring,  and, 
ip  of  cedars, 
avv  «  .(ons, 
>-(ire;  lieajis 
nd  so  forth, 
lividuals,  all 
old  friends, 
A  new  mail 
le  going  on 
Jugli  we  had 

fied,  blazing 
3f  the  gulch, 
ips  of  "gay 
:  aloud,  some 
arm  corners, 
mouths,  and 
:al  were  busy 


tin:    camp    in   tiik   (julcii. 


«45 


PrcKcntlv  two  horsemen  galloped  in  from 
the  sctvlement  eight  miles  away.  One  of  lliem 
proved,  to  our  surprise,  to  be  the  good  old 
Deacon,  who  sang  so  lustily  about  the  place 
where  there  would  be  no  more  sorrow,  lie 
was  well  and  hearty,  and  Itioked  as  spruce  as 
n  city  dandy,  in  his  new  clothes  —  a  proof  that 
his  sickness  had  not  harmed  him  any. 

Our  "  warbler  "  tavorcd  us  with  choice  se- 
lections, such  as  "  The  Days  of  ' \ij,"  "  Always 
(jay  and  Free."  "  Colleen  Hawn,"  and  so 
forth,  while  the  Captain  made  frantic  efforts 
to  blow  a  tune  out  of  an  harmonica,  which  he 
had  picked  up  iVom  amongst  the  rest  of  the 
'•traps."  He  hatl  hinted  to  me  that  he  was 
going  to  strikeout  for  civilization  in  the  course 
of  a  month,  but  gave  no  very  good  reason  ;  so 
I  did  not  lieetl  his  words.  It  came  to  pass, 
however,  that  our  companion  of  the  gulch 
did  leave  us  for  quieter  scenes. 

They   say  all  ^,"1101/  stories  end  with  a  mar- 


riage. In  order  that  mine  mny  not  lack  that 
ri'deeming  ipiality,  1  will  say  that  when  the 
Captain  reached  the  city  by  the  Salt  Lake,  he 
proceeded  no  farther,  but  joined  in  matrimo- 
ny's bond  with  a  fair  young  saintess,  who 
managed  to  capture  him.* 

Hut  I  am  trespassing.  Properly,  I  finished 
my  record  of  the  Camp  in  the  (iulch  when  we 
bade  it  farewell;  so.  patient  reader,  as  we  join 
in  the  following  '•  doxology,"  let  us  shake 
hands,  and  say,  •'  .\dieu." 

"  t  h,\{\  comradis  tin  11  wiin  loveil  me  well  — 

A  jfivi.ll.  s.in(y  rrt'W. 
'I'lu-rt'  were  s<tmi'  fiiin/  t-asfs,  I  must  confess, 

Hilt  siill  thcv  wiTf  l)r.ivL'  .ind  true, 
WIm  tifVtT  ttii.Uied  wli.itr'cr  lIicv/xmA^i/; 

Would  m-ver  Irt-l  nr  whim'  : 
Hut  likr  ^;ip(iil  old  lirnks,  lliey  stood  the  kicks, 

hi  lite  d.iys  of  '  '^t).'  " 

*  This  doeHii't  iigrce  with  wh.it  I  said  .ibout  the  gallant 
Captain  in  No.  i  ;  but  there  is  no  liel|)  fur  it.     It's  m. 


1'  the  coyotes 
ded  tiiiough 
were  always 
ing  was  "o- 


ilL 


111 


146  GETTING    ON     SEA-LEGS. 

GETTING  ON  SIli-LEGS. 


BY    AN   OLD    SALT. 


PAKT  I. 

HAVING  a  desire  to  see  the  world,  and 
meet  with  adventure,  I  went  to  sea  in  a 
whaler.  I  had  no  doulit  hut  what  I  would 
enjoy  myself  at  sea ;  hut  when  I  got  there,  I 
was  a  bit  disappointed. 

I  enjoyed  myself  wliile  sailing  down  the  bay 

—  the  Narragansett  Bay  —  with  the  wind  on 
our  starboard  quarter.  Its  shores  were  ver- 
dant and  beautiful,  and  everything  seemed 
lovely,  on  that  last  morning  in  May.  We 
had  been  watcliing  those  verdant  shores  for  a 
week,  almost,  waiting  for  a  fair  wind;  and  it 
had  come  at  last  from  the  nor'-west. 

The  nor'-west  wind  carried  us  out 
past  Newport,  till  we  were  in  sight 
of  Block  Island,  —  the  rtrst  foreign 
land  we  saw,  as  some  one  remarked, 

—  and  then  it  left  us ;  and  then  I 
began  to  se"  the  sea.  My  first  recol- 
lections of  it  are  indistinct,  yet  I 
retain  impressions.  I  am  Confident 
it  had  a  greenish  tinge,  and  it  seemed 
very  uneven.     I  remember  that  I  felt 

—  disappointed.  It  was  so  difVereiil 
from  anything  I  had  imagined,  that 
I  could  not  help  feeling  disappoiinsd. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  my 
feelings  more  minutely;  for  I  do  not 
wish  to  work  upon  anybody's  sympa- 
thies ;  and  I  doubt  whether  I  could 
express  all  I  felt  in  such  a  way  that 
it  would  be  understood  by  one  who 
has  not  been  to  sea.  I  will  merely 
siiy  that  I  passed  the  last  part  of  the 
day  in  the  lee  scuppers,  in  a  reclining  attitude, 
pensively  meditating  upon  the  sea,  and  look- 
ing at  it  occasionally  through  the  hole  they 
called  the  bow-port.  At  times  the  boat-steerer, 
called  Tom,  or  somebody  else,  would  ask  me 
how  it  was  coming  on,-  meaning  the  sea, 
probably,  —  but  I  seldom  mide  any  reply. 

They  said  it  was  calm  ;  but  what  made  them 
think  so,  was  more  than  I  could  tell ;  it  did  not 
seem  cahn  to  me.  There  was  no  wind,  it  is 
true,  but  tliere  was  a  great  deal  of  motion. 
Whenever  I  looked  out  of  the  port  —  and  it 
was  quite  often  —  the  srreen  waters  seemed  to 
rise  up,  in  a  mountain  as  it  were,  so  high  that 
I  could  not  see  the  top  of  it.  I  had  read  about 
seas  that  were  mountains  high,  and  I  saw  that 
it  was  all  true.  But  what  there  was  about  them 
that  was  grand  or  magnificent,  was  more  than 
I  could  understand. 


At  last  they  had  supper,  —  a  few  of  them,  — 
and  night  came.  I  didn't  care  much  about  it 
then,  and  only  mention  it  now  because  it  must 
have  been  at  aht^ul  that  time  that  I  began  to 
feel  better.  It  was  still  calm,  they  said,  and  I 
suppose  it  must  have  been ;  but  whether  it 
was  or  not,  the  boat-steerer,  Tom,  —  short  and 
dumpy,  but  a  real  good  fellow,  —  persuaded 
me  to  drink  about  tlirec  quarts  of  salt  water,  — 
it  don't  take  long  to  drink  three  quarts  of  ^ult 
water  after  you  get  it  .'  going,  —  and  pretty 
soon  I  began  to  feel  betti.r.  Tom  staid  by, 
to  keep  me  from  going  out  chrough  the  port- 
hole ;  and  finally  he  took  what  tliere  was  left 
of  me,  and  set  it  down  be;iide  him  on  the  car- 
penter's bench,  abaft  the  try-works. 

The  moon  was  full,  and  I  began  to  see  that 
it  was  really  calm,  although  there  was  still 


some  motion.  It  was  a  h  ^autiful  iiiglit,  I  have 
no  doubt;  but  I  would  m  ch  rather  have  been 
at  home.  Tom  showed  m.  Block  Island  ;  but 
it  didn't  do  me  any  gorj.  Neither  did  the 
•shimmering  of  the  sea,  nor  anything  else  that 
I  could  see.  How  long  I  sat  there  I  have  for- 
gotten ;  but  that  was  the  way  T  ended  my  first 
day  at  sea. 

I  was  very  light  for  a  few  days,  but  Tom 
said  it  was  most  always  so  when  one  was 
getting  his  sea-legs  on.  We  got  out  of  the 
green  wAter,  to  where  it  looked  hard  and  blue, 
and  yet  it  was  not  attractive.  It  was  only  the 
third  night  out,  I  think,  that  we  had  a  blow, 
and  I  had  an  opportunity  to  help  shorten  sail. 
I  would  have  preferred  co  stay  on  deck,  but 
having  got  the  impression  that  every  man 
would  be  expected  to  do  his  duty,  I  went  up 
—  on  to  the  main  yard  first — to  help  furl  the 


■a  few  of  them, — 
re  much  about  it 
w  because  it  must 
e  that  I  began  to 
,  tiicj  said,  and  I 
;  but  wlictlier  it 
Foni,  —  sliort  and 
low,  —  persuaded 
s  of  salt  water,  — 
ree  quarts  of  salt 
iig,  —  and  prettv 
Tom  staid  b_y, 
hrough  the  port- 
at  there  was  left 
;  him  on  the  car- 
vorks. 

)egan  to  see  that 
1  there  was  still 


"ill  night,  I  have 
ither  have  been 
)ck  Island  ;  but 
s'either  did  the 
vthing  else  that 
lere  I  have  for- 
cnded  my  first 

days,  but  Tom 
when  one  was 
got  out  of  the 
hard  and  blue, 
[t  was  only  the 
le  had  a  blow, 
Ip  shorten  sail, 
y  on  deck,  but 
lat  every  man 
uty,  I  went  up 
;o  help  furl  the 


PERILS     OF     THF:     sea, 


GETTING    ON    SEA    LEGS. 


149 


L 


biggest  sail  in  the  ship.  It  was  very  fortunate 
that  there  was  a  stiip  of  wood,  culled  a  jack- 
stay,  on  top  of  the  yard.  I  held  on  to  it,  and 
edged  aw.iy  out,  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  on  a 
foot-rope  that  brought  my  chin  up  about  to 
the  top  of  the  yard,  and  which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, seemed  a  very  unsafe  thing  to  de- 
pend on.  I  didn't  do  so  much  furling  as  some 
of  them,  but  I  was  there,  holding  on.  I  had 
no  idea  the  sail  was  so  large  and  so  heavy,  till 
I  went  up  there  to  help  furl  it. 

But  when  the  mainsail  was  stowed,  we  had 
to  go  up  over  the  top;  which  also  seemed  a 
dangerous  thing  to  do.  If  I  liad  fallen,  I  don't 
think  I  should  have  known  it,  for  I  never  knew 
how  I  got  up.  But  when  I  heard  the  mate's 
order  to  hold  on  while  he  squared  in  the  yard, 
I  knew  I  was  there,  away  out  half  way  to  Tom, 
who  sat  astride  of  the  very  end  of  the  yard,  as 
unconcerned  as  if  he  had  been  born  there.  I 
couldn't  see,  for  the  life  of  me,  why  he  didn't 
fall,  particularly  when  the  mate  ordered  us  to 
hold  on.  I  should  have  obeyed  that  order  had 
it  been  only  a  request.  Very  likely  it  was  in- 
tended for  Tom,  and  not  for  me.  It  seemed  a 
piece  of  recklessness  on  the  mate's  part  to  let 
that  yard  loose  while  we  were  all  on  it.  But  I 
found  out  that  the  object  was  to  get  the  wind 
out  of  the  sail,  so  that  we  could  handle  it  more 
easily.  Fortunately  there  were  enough  of  us, 
so  that,  with  what  little  I  could  do,  we  were 
able  to  manage  it.  When  it  was  all  over,  and 
we  were  down  on  deck  again,  Tom  said  I  was 
a  capital  hand  aloft.  He  even  hinted  that  I 
must  go  to  the  earing  with  him  ever\-  time. 

Still  I  wondered  what  there  could  be  that 
was  attractive  about  the  sea;  and,  particularlv, 
how  those  men  could  cat  anything  that  came 
out  of  that  —  cook's  galley  I  The  smell  of  it 
was  enough  for  me.  And  the  cook  I  —  I  didn't 
love  him  then;  for  he  was  a  bareheaded,  bare- 
breasted,  barearmed,  barefooted  negro,  with 
perspiration  streaming  and  glistening  all  over 
him.     How  could  the  men  relish  their  food! 

One  of  the  old  hands  learned  us  the  ropes, 
—  we  green  ones,  —  taking  us  round  and  call- 
ing every  rope  by  name.  I  had  no  idea  there 
were  so  many  ropes  in  a  ship  before.  There 
were  tacks,  sheets,  braces,  halyards,  reef- 
tackles,  buntlines,  bowlines,  clewlines,  out- 
hauls,  downhauls,  &c.,  «Ji:c.,  a  large  variety  of 
each,  —  except  the  cook's  kettle  halyards,  of 
which  there  was  but  one,  —  and  we  must  know 
just  where  to  find  each  particular  rope  the  in- 
stant an  order  was  given  ;  and  how  to  haul  on 
it,  too.  At  the  same  time  we  learned  to  box 
the  compass,  and  to  steer  the  ship. 

In  a  couple  of  weeks  I  knew  the  ropes,  and 


could  take  my  turn  at  the  wheel.  Still  1  had 
no  appetice.  I  could  eat  hard  tack,  but  any- 
thing that  came  out  of  the  cook's  coppers  was 
too  hearty.  One  wet  night,  when  we  had  been 
out  about  two  weeks,  I  got  the  first  thing  thai 
tasted  good.  It  rained  that  night,  and  I  felt 
very  sorry.  I  never  had  been  used  to  standing 
out  in  the  rain  four  hours  at  a  time  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  at  home,  and  I  was  afraid 
it  wouldn't  agree  with  me.  I  had  some  thought 
of  saying  so  to  the  second  mate,  in  whose  watch 
I  stood;  but  remembering  that  he  had  on  a 
good  water-proof  suit,  I  concluded  not  to.  My 
clothes  were  not  the  kind  that  turned  water, 
and  it  seemed  a  cold  sort  of  rain. 

We  men  were  allowed  to  stand  in  the  lee  of 
the  house,  aft,  however,  where  there  was  not 
quite  so  mucli  wind.  I  remember  that  some 
of  us  talked  about  home,  and  the  best  way  to 
get  there,  and  I  got  the  impression  that  there 
were  others  who  were  beginning  to  feel  afraid 
that  the  sea  would  not  agree  with  them.  The 
fourth  mate  and  the  boat-steerers  were  with  us, 
and  once  in  a  while  they  would  try  to  make  us 
laugh.  Possibly  I  smiled  once  or  twice,  but 
if  I  did,  I  have  no  recollection  of  it:  and  it  was 
so  dark  that  a  smile  could  not  have  been  seen 
very  far.  When  we  bad  been  there  about 
three  hours,  something  touched  me  —  out- 
wardly, 1  mean.  I  put  out  my  bands  to  feel 
what  it  was,  aiul  it  seemed  like  a  bread-bas- 
ket; as  I  had  suspected,  from  the  sciueak,  it 
might  be. 

"Take  some,"  said  a  low  voice,  which  was 
Tom's;   ••  it's  all  right." 

There  was  something  soft  in  the  basket,  and 
I  took  three  of  them.  They  were  cold  biscuit, 
as  we  would  call  them  on  shore,  but  at  sea 
they  were  "  soft  tack."  The  basket  went 
round,  and  every  man  took  some. 

Tom  was  rather  short  and  dumpy  for  an 
angel,  but  I  sometimes  thought  he  was  almi  st 
good  enough  to  be  one.  It's  possible  he  is  by 
this  time. 

While  I  was  eating,  a  soft  voice  near  me 
said.  '•  It  goes  to  the  right  spot." 

I  understood  just  what  it  meant,  for  mine 
.vent  to  the  right  spot  too.  It  was  the  first 
food  that  really  tasted  good  to  me  after  I  got 
to  sea.  It  came  by  accident, — or.  I  am  not 
sure  but  I  might  say,  providentially.  The 
steward  had  been  baking  soft  tack  the  evening 
before  —  an  extra  lot  of  it —  for  the  cabin  ta- 
ble. His  well-filled  basket  had  been  left  near 
the  window  in  his  pantry.  The  pantry  was  on 
•the  same  side  of  the  house  against  which  we 
were  standing,  and  the  window  —  a  sliding 
one  —  had    not  been   made   fast.     In   rubbing 


J 


150 


GETTING    ON    SEA-LEGS. 


i" 


against  it,  Tom  made  the  discovery.  Very 
naturally  he  shoved  the  window  clear  back, 
and  began  to  explore.  Very  fortunately  the 
bread-basket  was  so  near  he  could  not  miss  of 
it,  and  the  result  was  as  I  have  stated. 

After  that  I  began  to  pit!;  up  gradually. 
The  soft  tack  gave  my  appetite  a  start,  as  it 
were,  and  before  we  arrived  at  the  Western 
Islands  I  could  eat  bean  soup  and  duff  with 
any  of  them.  My  appetite  for  salt  junk  was 
longer  in  coming;  but  finally  I  could  master 
anything  the  cook  had  to  offer.  There  is  no 
telling  what  a  man  can  cat  till  he  goes  to  sea. 
To  be  sure  I  used  to  long  for  a  little  milk  and 
sugar  to  put  in  my  tea  and  coffee,  but  I  even 
got  over  that  before  I  Had  been  at  sea  four 
years. 

Then,  too,  there  was  a  lack  of  knives,  and 
forks,  and  earthen  ware.  All  the  crockerv  I 
had  —  and  it  was  as  much  as  any  one  had  in 
the  forecastle  —  was  a  tin  pot  that  held  a 
quart,  an  iron  spoon,  and  a  little  tin  pannikin 
for  a  plate.  T  took  care  of  all  these  thin-^s 
myself,  washing  them  occasionally  when 
water  vas  plenty,  and  "leaning  thorn  with 
oakum  wlien  it  was  not.  I  used  to  pick  up 
all  the  fag-ends  of  ropes  for  aish-cloths.  It 
was  plain  enough  that  some  of  the  old  sailors 
pitied  me  for  being  so  nice.  They  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  wash  dishes  more  than 
once  a  week,  and  some  got  along  very  well 
without  washing  them  at  all. 

I  got  sympathy  of  various  kinds.  The 
second  mate,  Mr.  Bowlegs,  used  to  speak 
kindly  to  me,  when  there  was  nobody  else 
about,  and  sometimes  when  I  was  at  the  wheel 
the  captain  seemed  to  feel  an  interest  in  me. 
I  suppose  it  was  seldom  they  got  such  a  ten- 
der sprig  at  sea.  None  of  them  seemed  to 
swear  at  me  quite  so  hard  as  they  did  at  the 
others.     Even  the  cook  had  pity  for  me. 

I'll  tell  you  how  it  was  abou':  the  cook  ("  the 
doctor"  we  always  used  to  call  him)  —the 
black,  shiny  fellow!  He  first  showed  his 
good-will  towards  me  by  calling  me  slyly  be- 
hind the  galley,  one  evening  at  supper  time, 
before  I  had  come  to  my  appetite,  and  thrust- 
ing into  my  hands  some  warm  soft  tack,  —a 
part  of  his  perquisite  from  the  cabin  table,  — 
"  Put  them  under  your  shirt  and  keep  dark," 
said  he,  in  his  husky  voice;  and  I  knew  very 
well  what  he  meant.  He  wanted  my  wash- 
ing; that  was  all. 

I  was  very  willing  that  the  doctor  should 
do  my  washing,  all  but  the  dishes,  and  after 
that  I  had  as  clean  clothes  as  any  one.  In 
return  I  gave  tlie  doctoral!  the  tobacco  I  had, 
and  some  other  things  that  I  thought  I  would 


have  no  use  for.  Of  course  I  did  not  go  to 
sea  without  a  supply  of  tobacco,  expecting  to 
learn  hew  to  use  it.  I  did  make  a  few  feeble 
attempts  in  that  direction  before  we  weighed 
anchor,  but  after  we  got  to  sea  I  was  so  dis- 
appointed that  I  gave  up  my  experiments,  and 
have  never  had  a  desire  to  resume  them  since. 
I  am  getting  along  in  years  now,  and  I  aon't 
think  I  should  have  enjoyed  any  better  health 
even  if  I  had  used  tobacco. 

One  evening  the  doctor  gave  me  a  flying- 
fish  for  breakfast.     Think  of  that! 

The  old  lady  whose  sailor  son  told  her  about 
flying  fish,  didn't  believe  in  such  things,  be- 
cause it  didn't  tell  about  them  in  the  Bi..  j. 
But  when  he  spoke  about  heaving  up  Pharaoh's 
chariot  wheels  out  of  the  Red  Sea,  it  was  all 
right;  because,  according  to  the  Bible,  Pha- 
raoh and  his  host  were  oversvhelmed  in  that 
sea;  and  no  doubt  she  was  glad  enough  of 
it,  not  thinking  what  a  weeping  and  wailing 
there  must  liave  been  among  the  poor  women 
and  children  at  home. 

But  the  doctor  actually  gave  me  a  flying-fish 
for  breakfast;  fried,  I  think.  At  any  rate,  it 
was  fried  or  broiled.  It  was  a  breezy  morn- 
ing, and  the  fish  flew  on  board  our  ship.  Poor 
fellow  I  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  coming 
to.  We  had  just  begun  to  wash  off  decks,  — 
something  I  won't  s.iy  anything  about  at  pres- 
ent,—  and  there  were  flying-fish  all  around 
the  ship,  darting  from  sea  to  sea;  that  is, 
from  the  crest  of  one  wave  into  another; 
sometimes  going  several  ship's  lengths  clear 
of  the  water.  It  happened  that  the  flight  of 
this  one  was  arrested  by  the  inclined  deck  of 
our  ship,  and  thus  I  got  him.  I  gave  it  to  the 
doctor  to  cook  for  me,  and  he  could  hardly  do 
less  than  give  it  back,  especially  as  he  was  my 
washer-man.  And  so  it  happened  that  the 
doctor  gave  me  a  flying-fish  for  breakfast. 

And  yet  I  was  not  happy.  The  sea  had  dis- 
appointed me.  The  ship,  too.  The  customs, 
and  the  st^'lc  of  living  that  prevailed  on 
board,  were  not  in  accordance  with  my  tastes. 
I  had  been  differently  educated.  I  had  a  gen- 
eral tendency  to  feel  sorry,  and  very  early  in 
the  voyage  I  had  made  up  my  mind  not  to  be 
■I  s;.iIor.  I  remembered  the  old  farm,  —  the 
best  place  in  all  the  world,  — and  resolved  to 
improve  the  first  opportunity  that  should 
ofter  to  return  to  it.  I  even  spoke  to  the  cap- 
tain about  it.  He  seemed  pleased  at  my  at- 
tacliinent  to  the  old  place,  but  thought  I 
could  do  much  better  to  stay  with  him.  I 
told  him,  "  I  had  no  idea  he  was  going  to  make 
so  long  a  voyage.  The  shipping-master  had 
told  ine  it  would  nnlv  bo  an  eighteen  months' 


GETTING    ON     SEA    LEGS. 


151 


I  (lid  not  go  to 
L'co,  expecting  to 
riake  a  few  feeble 
Pore  we  weighed 
sea  I  was  so  dis- 
xperiments,  and 
lime  them  since. 
[TOW,  and  I  aon't 
my  better  health 

ive  me  a  flying- 
:hat ! 

)n  told  her  about 
uich  things,  he- 
rn in  the  Bi^  j. 
:ng  up  Pharaoh's 
d  Sea,  it  was  all 
the  Bible,  Pha- 
ivhelmed  in  that 
glad  enough  of 
ing  and  wailing 
the  poor  women 

me  a  fljing-fish 
At  any  rate,  it 

a  brcc/_v  morn- 

our  ship.    Poor 

he  was  coming 
ish  off  decks,  — 
g  about  at  pres- 
-fish  all  around 
o    sea;    that  is, 

into  another; 
I's  lengths  clear 
lat  the  flight  of 
inclined  deck  of 

I  gave  it  to  the 
could  hardly  do 
ly  as  he  was  my 
pcncd  that  the 
r  breakfast, 
riie  sea  had  dis- 
The  customs, 
t  prevailed  on 
witli  my  tastes. 
1.  I  had  a  gen- 
id  very  early  in 

mind  not  to  be 
old  farm,  —  the 
and  resolved  to 
ty  that  should 
loke  to  the  cap- 
eased  at  my  at- 

but  thought  I 
.'  with  him.  I 
■  going  to  make 
ling-niaster  had 
ghteen  months' 


voyage;  which  I  had  thought  would  be  as 
long  as  I  should  care  to  be  at  sea  the  first 
time." 

Tlie  captain   tried   to   make  it  easy  for  me. 
"  If  we  should  have  good  luck."  he  said,  "  we 
■would  not   be   gone    more    than   three  years,  | 
and  by  that  time  I  ought  to  be  able  to  steer  a  1 
boat."     He   promised  to  teach  me  navigation,  j 
too,   and     old  me  to  come  into  the  cabi:i  that 
verv  dav,  after  dinner,   and  show  him   how  1 
could    "  figgcr."     I    got    the    impression    that 
there  was  a  book  in  the  cabin  with  a  great  many 
figures  in   it;  but  I  got  little  encouragement 
of  reaching  home  till  the  end  of  the  voyage. 
I  gained  something,  liowever;  for  after  that  I 
spent  an   hour  in  the  cabin  almost  every  day, 
for  a  time,  making  figures.     I  had  never  seen 
so  many  figures  before  as  I  found  in  Jie  cap-  j 
tain's  "  Epitome."  ' 

I  will  just  say  here  that  the  name  of  my 
ship  was  North  Light;  the  "  Old  North,"  we 
used  to  call  her.  The  captain's  name  was 
Lancer,  —  Captain  Lancer,  —  generally  known 


among  the  crew  as  the  •'  Old  Man."  We 
seldom  called  him  anything  else.  We  were 
bound  to  the  North-west  Coast,  by  the  way 
of  the  Cape  of  Ciood  Hope  and  the  Indian 
Ocean.  And  I  will  only  remark  further,  in 
this  connection,  that  the  voyage  lasted  just 
four  3ears.  The  ship  arriveil  home  in  the 
same  month  of  the  year  in  which  she  had 
sailed   away. 

After  my  Interview  with  the  captain,  con- 
L-eniing  honij  and  the  way  to  get  there,  I  came 
to  the  ileterminatioii  that  I  would  be  free.  I 
began  to  think  of  it  as  soon  as  I  left  the  cap- 
tain to  go  forward,  and  h\  the  time  I  reached 
the  forecastle,  had  resolved  to  be  free.  "Give 
me  liberty  or  give  me  ileath,"  said  Patrick 
Henry,  "  and  give  me  freedom,"  thought  I. 

I  knew  that  I  could  never  be  free  at  sea,  but 
we  were  to  touch  at  Fayal,  —  it  was  all  the  talk 
till  we  got  there, — and  I  supposed  that  then 
we  would  all  go  ashore,  for  a  few  hours  at 
least.  Then  I  would  strike  for  freedom  and 
my  native  land. 


153 


GETTING     OX     SFA     LEGS. 


GETTING  ON  SEA-LEGS. 

BY   AN   OLD   SALT. 

PAKT  n. 

T  LOOKED  eagerly  forward  for  the  Western 
■•■  Islands.  It  was  a  hazy,  soft  summer  day 
when  we  first  saw  Flores,  like  a  great  bank  of 
smoke,  away  to  the  eastward.  Almost  at  the 
moment  we  first  saw  it,  the  ship  lurched  so 
heavily,  that  our  allowance  of  bean-soup,  just 
pi'ssed  out  of  the  yulley  for  dinner,  was  cap- 
sized upon  deck,  and  went  m  diagonal  lines 
towards  the  scuppers.  Shanks,  who  was  at 
the  wheel,  was  accused  of  capsizing  the  soup 
on  purpose;  but  probably  it  was  all  owing  to 
his  trying  to  see  the  land.  I  am  sure  he  re- 
gretted the  loss  as  much  as  any  of  us,  for  lie 
was  affectionately  fond  of  beans.  The  second 
morning  after  that  we  were  in  sight  of  Faval. 
It  was  the  Fourth  of  July,  the  day  of  all 
others  when  thoughts  of  freedom  come,  —  and 
I  was  still  firm  in  my  resolve.  We  had  ar- 
rived off  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  in  the 
night,  and  at  sunrise  the  white  walls  of 
the  town  were  in  sight,  the  ship  running  in 
towards  them.  I  put  on  some  extra  clothes 
that  morning,  ai'liou-h  the  weather  was  warm, 
ami  watched  the  shores,  and  the  town  we  were 
approaching,  with  much  interest. 

The  island  looked  inviting,  its  attractions 
increasing  as  we  sailed  fartlier  into  the  bay, 
past  a  yellow-walled  convent,  or  church,  on 
the  left.  It  was  really  a  foreign  land;  but  I 
felt  very  willing  to  stop  there,  till  I  could  get 
a  chance  to  go  home.  To  be  sure,  there  might 
be  a  difficulty  in  interchanging  ideas  with  the 
inhabitants  ;  but  probably  that  could  be  over- 
come. 

Back  of  the  town,  whose  low  white  walls 
stretched  around  the  head  of  the  bay,  were 
beautiful  green  sloping  fields  stretching  awav 
up  the  hills,  surrounded  by  hedge-rows,  as  it 
seemed  at  that  distance.  Some  of  these  fields 
were  under  cultivation,  apparently,  donkeys 
and  men  being  seen  moving  about  in  them. 
The  rising  sun  shone  brightly  over  all,  .scarce 
a  cloud  being  in  the  sky. 

We  ran  in  till  we  were  within  a  mile  of  the 
town ;  and  then  the  ship  rt^as  hove  to.  I  was 
not  the  only  green  hand  who  expected  to  go 
ashore.  Most  of  us  were  ready  for  an  excur- 
sion, and  the  old  hands  probably  thought  it 
would  be  well  enough  to  let  us  believe  that  we 
■would  have  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  one.  But 
again  I  was  disappointed.  When  the  main 
yards  were  aback,  the  captain  told  Mr.  Shooks, 
the  fourth  mate,  to  lower  his  boat—  the  star- 


board quarter-boat.  It  was  manned  by  a  picked 
crew,  of  whom  .Mr.  Shooks  was  one,  Tom 
another,  and  'he  balance  all  regular  old  salts 
who  wouldn't  run  if  they  could.  Then  the 
captain  got  in,  and  they  pulled  away.  Then 
I  saw  Captain  Lancer's  game,  and  my  confi- 
dence in  him  was  greatly  shaken.  I  never 
had  so  good  an  opinion  of  Captain  Lancer 
after  that. 

As  soon  as  the  boat  was  gone,  Mv.  Plump 
—  that  was  the  mate  —  ordered  us  to  brace 
forward ;  and  we  were  soon  standing  right 
away  from  the  trwn,  out  to  sea  again.  I  can 
hardly  tell  how  I  felt,  when  I  found  that 
nobody  else  was  going  ashore.  I  had  been 
so  sure,  all  along,  that  I  should  stop  at  Fayal, 
that  I  was  for  the  time  a  little  sore  in  spirit. 
I  wondered  how  any  captain  could  have  the 
he.;rt  to  treat  honest  and  confiding  men  in 
that  way.  It  occurred  to  me,  at  last,  that  he 
must  have  been  a  green  hand  himself  some 
time. 

But  there  was  no  help  fc  r  it ;  and  finding  my 
clothes  rather  warm,  I  i.ent  down  and  took 
off  part  of  them.  Vain  lope.'  Fatal  delusion  ! 
When  should  I  ever  „ee  my  home.'  I  thought 
hard  of  my  captain  all  day,  and  for  some  time 
after.  He  looked  like  a  guilty  thing  when  he 
came  on  board  at  night,  and  retired  so  quickly 
to  his  cabin  that  I  was  sure  he  was  conscious 
of  having  done  wror.g. 

We  stood  out,  past  the  yellow  building  that 
was  on  our   right  now,  till  we  were  half  way 
over  towards   Pico.     The  highest  lanil  1  had 
ever  seen  was   right  before  me,  but  it  did  not 
interest  me   much.      The    Peak  of  Pico    rose 
almost  eight  thousand   feet  directly  from   the 
sea;   but  it  would   have  been   all   the  same  to 
me   if  it  had    been    only  five    thousand    feet. 
The  water  was  covered  with  "  Portuguese  men- 
of-war,"  all  around  us  ;  yet  they  did  not  look 
very  forniidable.     They  were  said  to  be  capa- 
ble  of  inflicting  pain,  however,  and  we  were 
advised    not    to   go    overboard    among   them. 
The  advice  was  well  thought  of,  for  there  was 
one,  at  least,  who  was  medit.iting  something 
of  that  kind,  should  night  come  early  enough. 
Those  "men-of-war"  carried  no  guns     The  v 
were   merely   little   floating   nautihe,  provided 
with  membraneous  apjiendages.  of  a  pinkish 
hue,  which   they  rai.sed  above  them  and  used 
as    sails.      They   were    delicate-looking    little 
things,  and  very  numerous.    Their  touch  upon 
one's    flesh,    when    in    the   water,   produces    a 
stinging  sensation,  and  therefore,  as  the  water 
was  ■■terally  covered  with  them,  a  swim  towards 
the  shore  would  have  been  very  painful,  to  say 
the  least.     Having  learned  these  things,  I  lost 
all  hope  of  reaching  the  shore  in  any  way. 


BSTtM 


GETTING    ON    SEA-LEGS. 


•53 


ned  by  a  picked 
was  one,  Tom 
gular  old  salts 
lid.  Then  the 
J  away.     Then 

and  my  confi- 
iken.  I  never 
Captain  Lancer 

ne,  M'-.  Plump 
;d  us  to  brace 
standing  right 
I  again.     I  can 

I  found  that 
:.     I  had  been 

stop  at  Fajal, 
sore  in  spirit, 
ould  have  the 
tiding  men  in 
,t  last,  that  he 

himself  some 

md  finding  my 
own  and  took 
""atal  delusion  ! 
le .'     I  thought 

for  some  time 
thing  when  he 

red  so  quickly 
\ias  conscious 

building  that 
ivere  half  way 
St  laiul  1  had 
but  it  did  not 
of  Pico    rose 
;ctly  I'rom   the 
I  the  same  to 
limisand    feet, 
rtuguese  men- 
did  not  look 
d  to  be  capa- 
and  we  were 
imong   them, 
for  there  was 
ig  something 
sarly  enough. 
5  guns     They 
;il;e,  provided 
of  a  pinkish 
em  and  used 
ooking    little 
ir  touch  upon 
,   produces    a 
,  as  the  water 
swim  towards 
ainful,  to  say 
things,  I  lost 
any  way. 


At  last  we  wore  ship,  and  stood  back  towards 
Fayal.  It  was  nearly  noon  by  the  time  we  got 
well  in  towards  the  town  again,  and  not  near 
so  cool  and  pleasant  as  it  had  been  in  the 
morninp.  By  this  time  our  captain  had  made 
purchases  on  shore,  and  we  met  a  large  shallop 
coming  off  with  supplies.  It  was  accompanied 
by  several  smaller  boats,  containing  articles 
to  be  yet  disposed  of  on  private  account.  We 
hove  to,  and  the  boats  all  came  alongside. 
Then  those  who  were  in  them  spoke  Portu- 
guese; and  it  was  wonderful  how  much  they 
could  talk  in  a  short  time.  They  had  on 
quaint  ■^teeple-crowncd  hats,  and  looked  odd 
in  their  dress  generally. 

The  supplies  consisted  of  hogs,  —  covered 
skeletons,  as  Short  remarked,  while  he  helped 
one  on  board,  —  fowls,  potatoes,  onions,  and 
four  bushels  of  apricots.  The  apricots 
looked  nice;  but  they  were  for  cabin  use. 
The  most  I  could  do  was  to  wish  I  lived 
in  the  cabin.  The  hogs  —  they  were 
funny  fellows.  They  consisted  mostly 
of  nose  and  tail.  Between  those  points 
they  had  not  much  to  brag  of.  They 
had  no  end  of  tail  —  that  we  could  dis- 
cover. They  wore  them  in  ringlets  — a 
fashion  that  used  to  prevail  to  some 
extent  among  our  own  hogs. 

There  was  nothing   peculiar  about  the 
fowls,  or  the  onions  and   potatoes  ;   but 
in   the    small    boats   were    some    fruits, 
such   as  were  in  season,  that  we    could 
have   by  paying  for.    There  were    also 
cheeses,  pressed  in  little  flat,  round  cakes, 
that  would  weigh  about  a  pound  each. 
The  old  hands  seemed  to  know  all  about       -■ 
them,  and   called  them  jackass  cheeses. 
I  bought  a  few  of  them,  and  some  fruit,  with 
a  reckless  disregard    of   cost;  and  retiring  to 
a  corner,  refreshed    myself,    and    found  some 
comfort  still. 

It  was  impossible  to  keep  my  eyes  off  those 
swine  while  I  was  eating.  There  were  about 
fifty  of  them,  and  it  seemed  strange  that  the 
captain  should  take  so  many  such  things  to 
sea  with  him.  I  wondered  if  any  of  them 
would  go  into  the  cabin.  One  of  them  came 
up  and  smelt  of  me  with  the  end  of  his  nose, 
and  I  gave  him  some  cheese.  They  seemed 
inclined  to  be  friendly,  all  of  them.  As  we 
were  to  be  shipmates,  it  would  be  well  to  be 
on  good  terms  with  them.  It  occurred  to  me, 
as  I  watched  them,  that  they  were  of  the  same 
breed  that  ran  down  the  mountain  into  the 
sea. 

The  boatmen  staid  by  till  they  could  sell  us 
nothing  tnore,  and  then  they  cast  off  and  ran 
back  towards  the  town,  while  we  stood  out  to 


sea  again.  Returning,  and  running  well  in 
late  in  the  afternoon,  we  met  the  captain  who 
had  in  his  boat  three  Portuguese  youth,  whom 
he  was  going  to  make  seamen  of.  It  was  evi- 
dei  that  the  poor  fellows  had  on  their  best 
clothes,  and  I  pitied  them.  If  I  could  have 
talked  in  Portuguese,  I  am  not  sure  but  1 
should  have  told  them  how  it  was;  but  not 
one  in  the  ship  could  speak  to  them  in  that 
language,  nor  could  they  speak  to  us  in  ours. 
As  I  have  before  remarked,  the  capcain  retired 
quietly  to  his  cabin  soon  after  his  return.  Then 
Mr.  Plump  once  more  beaded  the  ship  out  to 
sea  again. 

The  breeze  left  us  soon  after  sunset,  and  as 
it  was  near  the  full  of  the  moon,  we  had  a 
lovely  night  — drifting  upon  the  shimmering 
sea    between   the   shores   of  the    two    islands. 


Having  given  up  all  hope  ol'  rcuching  either 
shore,  my  mind  was  becoming  resigned,  —  to 
wait  for  the  next  chance, —  and  I  was  in  a 
measure  prepared  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the 
scene.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  them, 
as  such  beauties  can  hardly  be  appreciated 
unless  they  are  seen. 

The  next  morning  there  was  a  breeze,  and 
when  I  turned  out  at  breakfast  time,  having 
had  the  morning  watch  in.  we  were  running 
to  southward  in  the  very  shadow  of  the  Peak 
of  Pica.  It  soon  became  known  that  we  were 
to  touch  next  at  the  Cape  de  Verdes,  for  a 
supply  of  goats;  to  be  companions  for  the 
pigs,  perhaps.  (I  am  sorry  to  say  the  pigs 
were  all  sick  as  soon  as  we  got  them  fairly  to 
sea;  and  not  only  the  pigs,  but  the  fowls,  and 
the  three  Portuguese  youths.  Poor  things! 
they  all  seemed  disappointed.) 

For  two  or  three  days  I  did  not  visit  the 
cabin;    but   finally  the    captain    ventured   to 


I  T(!^  tr 


'54 


1  *  ' 

i  ■ 


I 


speak  to  me  npjain,  when  it  was  m_v  trick  at 
the  wheel;  and  as  I  answered  iiini  kindlv,  he 
invited  me  to  resume  my  studies.  After  all,  I 
could  not  very  well  lay  up  anythinjj  against 
him ;  he  had  the  advantaije  of  mo,  and,  of 
course,  a  ritfht  tf)  use  it.  It  was  possible,  I 
thous;ht,  that  I  might  do  the  same  if  I  were 
cnptaiii.  So  I  forjjave  him  as  much  as  I  could, 
altiiough  I  resolved  that  I  would  get  on  shore, 
if  possible,  at  the  Cape  de  Verdes.  I  resumed 
my  studies,  spending  about  an  hour  each  day 
in  the  cabin,  as  before;  and  again  the  captain 
and  I  were  on  \erv  good  terms. 

And  now  I  will  speak  of  the  steward,  with 
whom  I  came  in  daily  contact.  He  was  very 
black;  blacker  than  the  doctor,  if  possible,  but 
not  so  shiny.  His  was  a  more  gloomy,  som- 
bre hue,  like  the  darkness  we  see  —  when  we 
can't  see  anything.  That  was  the  color  of  the 
steward.  He  had  a  very  large  and  very  angu- 
lar frame.  He  had  but  one  eye,  and  that  looked 
always  across  his  nose,  as  if  hunting  after  the 
other  eye  that  used  to  be  there.  I  never  saw 
a  man  with  only  one  eye  who  squinted  so 
extremely  before.  On  his  head  he  alwavs 
wore  a  bright,  stiiT  bandanna  handkerchief,  in 
the  form  of  a  turban,  so  drawn  down  as  to 
cover  his  blind  eye.  I  never  saw,  before  or 
since,  on  any  other  man,  such  a  solenm, 
mournful  visage  as  that  steward  had.  His 
English,  when  speaking,  was  much  broken. 
It  was  said  he  was  a  native  African,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  he  was.  He  hat!  a  deep  scar 
upon  one  cheek,  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
made  by  a  hot  gridiron.  In  short,  his  general 
appearance  was  such  as  to  suggest  that  he  had 
been  severely  kicked  by  Fate. 

This    steward  was    the   cabin    housekeeper. 
He  was  neat,  and  very  efficient  in  his  place. 


GETTINGONSEALEGS. 

Don't  look  sufT  he'd  be  very  hard  to 


agin, 
lun." 

Then  we  tried  B ;  and  the  steward  seemed  to 
think  he'd  be  a  hard  one.  Fina'ly  he  got  an 
idea. 

"It   looks   like  de  darbies  deys   put  on    uo 
when  we  kick  up  dat  rumpus  in  Callao.     Ise 
got  him  now,  shuah." 
Then  came  C 

"I  doesn't  quite  unstan  wat  dey  calls  him 
see  for,"  said  the  steward. 

My  pupil  had  me  there.  For  the  life  of  me 
I  couldn't  tell  why  they  called  him  see,  and  the 
best  thing  I  could  do  was  to  go  on  to  D. 

When  we  had  got  through  with  about  half 
of  them,  the  steward  wanted  to  go  back  and 
review.  So  we  went  back.  He  had  forgotten 
about  A,  but  remembering  the  darbies,  he  was 
just  going  to  say  11  — but  couldn't  think  of  it. 
And  it  was  so  with  all  the  others.  Finally, 
after  several  vain  attempts  to  remember  the 
names  of  the  difVerent  letters,  he  closed  the 
book  in  disgust. 

"If  dafs  what  you  calls  readin',"  says  he, 
"dis  chile  kin  get  along  well  'nutT  widout  it. 
I  don't  wants  no  more  book  lurnin'  for  me." 

I  felt  a  bit  relieved  at  this  decision,  and  made 
no  elTort  to  persuade  him  to  another  effort. 
Nothing  else  occurred  worthy  of  mention  till 
we  sighted  Fogo,  one  of  the  Cape  de  Verde 
Islands. 

Fogo  was  not  the  island  the  captain  wished 
to  touch  at,  and  it  was  not  till  two  days  after 
that  we  were  off  Brava,  when  it  was  proposed 
to  land.  I  learned  from  Tom,  who  had  it  from 
the  fourth  mate,  who  of  course  got  it  from 
the  captain,  that  izvo  boats  were  to  land,  and 
that  the  regular  crew  belonging  to  each  boat 
would  go  with  it.    Of  course,  one  of  the  boats 


He  had  the  dispensing  of  all  the  luxuries  that  \  was  the  fourth  mate's;  and  the  other  was  not 
went  forwa-d  for  the  men,  and  therefore  he  I  mine;  for  I  belorged  to  the  bow-boat,  which 
V'as  respeced.     Soon  after  leaving  the  Azores,     was    Mr.   Sharp's,   or  the  third  mate's.     I  did 


he  spoke  to  me  one  day,  when  I  vis  i^ursuing 
niy  studies  alone.  He  wanted  to  learn  to  read, 
he  said,  and  he'd  got  a  siielling-book  in  his 
chest ;  woui>....'t  I  learn  him?     I  promised   to 


not  stop  to  consider  what  sort  of  a  place 
Brava  was,  or  anything  about  it.  but  having 
advantage  of  this  informaiion.  I  determined 
to  make  .\  desperate  venture.    Tom  knew  very 


assist  h.m,  ancUKi-ced  to  meet  him  that  night,  ;  weP  "u-it  I  was  anxious  to  go  ashore,  though 
dunng  the  dog-watch,  in  his  ../,,/r-room  -  a  I  he  mav  not  have  understood  the  reason  why. 
little  cuddy-hole  with  a  berth  in  it  just  forward  |  I  asked   him   if  I  might  take  the  place  of  his 


of  his  pantry 

I  kept  my  engagement,  and  found  the  stew- 
ard ready  with  his  spelling-book.  It  was  a 
new  hook,  —  not  a  leaf  soiled,  —and  the  old 
fellow  felt  proud  of  it.  We  looked  it  through, 
and  turned  back  to  the  alphabet,  and  I  tried  to 
learn  iiim  A. 

"Now,  stewar-i,"  said  I,  "  that's  A  ;  the  letter 
we  all  begin  wim."    , 

"I  wanter  know,"  said  he;  "  less  twig  him 


after-oarsman,  if  I  could  arrange  it  with  that 
man.  He  said  it  would  be  all  the  same  to  him, 
he  didn't  care  who  went,  though  it  was  possi- 
ble that  Mr.  Shocks  or  the  captain  might 
object.  I  did  not  apply  for  leave  to  Mr. 
Shooks  or  the  captain,  but  went  forward  for 
my  man. 

It  was  Shanks  who  pulled  the  after-oar  in 
Tom's  boat,  and  to  him  I  went,  though  with 
no   appearance   of  haste.     "Shanks,"  says  I, 


B?sBr 


)e   very  hard   to 

ward  seemed  to 
na'ly  he  got  an 

levs  put  on   uo 
in  Callao.     Ise 


t  dey  calls  him 

r  the  life  of  nie 
lim  see,  nnd  the 
I  on  to  D. 
t-itli  about  half 
o  go  back  and 
e  had  forjfotten 
darbies,  he  was 
In't  think  of  it. 
hers.  Filially, 
remember  the 
he  closed  the 

idin',"  says  he, 
'nutr  widout  it. 
nin'  for  ine." 
sion,  and  made 
another  effort, 
of  mention  till 
Cape  de  Verde 

captain  wished 

two  days  after 

t  was  proposed 

'ho  had  it  from 

se  ;?ot   it   from 

re  to  land,  and 

ig  to  each  boat 

ne  of  the  boats 

other  was  not 

)w-boat,  which 

mate's.     I  did 

irt   of  a   place 

it.  but  having 

I  determined 

'om  knew  very 

ishore,  though 

le  reason  why. 

he  place  of  his 

?e   it  with  that 

e  same  to  him, 

h  it  was  possi- 

captain   might 

leave   to    Mr. 

nt   forward  for 

ie  after-oar  in 
t,  though  with 
anks,"  saj's  I, 


GETTING    ON    SEA-LEGS. 


«55 


1 


"  what  will  you  take  for  your  chance  of  going 
ashore  ?  " 

"I  dunno,"  says  he;  "  whafll  ye  give?" 
"That  wasn't  what  I  asked  you ;  what  \  ill 
you  take  ?  " 

"  Ye  ain't  such  a  darned  fool  as  to  think 
we'll  get  a  chance  to  go  ashore  —  arc  \e?" 

"  I  doi.'t  know,"  says  I ;  "  it's  possible  some 
of  \is  will  have  a  chance." 

"  Wal,  I'll  sell  mine  cheap,  What'll  yc 
give  for  it,  naow.' " 

"  I'll  give  you  one  of  my  red  shirts, 
Shanks." 

"  It's  a  bargain  !  "  and  Shanks  clasped  my 
hand.     "  Bring  on  yer  shirt." 

The  shirt  was  transferred  to  Shanks's  chest 
before  plenty  of  witnesses,  and  I  was  sure  of 
his  chance  of  going  ashore,  —  provided  the 
captain  should  not  object.  The  price  was  cheap, 
I  thought,  considering  that  the  climate  was  so 
warm  there.  I  had  three  good  woollen  shirts 
left,  which  would  certainly  be  as  many  as  I 
would  need  should  I  stop  at  Brava. 

The  aforesaid  bargain  was  completed  the 
evening  we  arrived  off  the  island.  We  were 
to  lie  off  and  on  through  the  night,  and  land 
the  next  morning.  When  the  morning  came, 
I  dressed  myself,  before  it  was  very  light, 
much  as  I  had  done  at  Fayal.  That  is,  I  put 
on  two  shirts  and  an  extra  pair  of  trousers. 
(Sailors  never  wear  pants.)  I  was  careful  not 
to  make  much  show  with  my  clothes;  and 
when  I  was  dressed,  I  put  what  money  I  had 
left  —  about  two  dollars,  I  think  —  no  scrip 
among  it  —  in  my  pocket,  and  went  on  deck 
to  look  at  the  land. 

"  It's  a  hard  looking  old  place,"  said  Shanks, 
quite  happy,  evidently,  that  he  had  no  chance 
of  getting  to  it. 

And  so  it  was ;  but  even  such  a  place  was 
better  than  none.  It  seemed  only  a  great  brown 
mountain  rising  out  of  the  sea.  We  could 
see  nothing  green  upon  it,  nor  any  sign  that 
anybody  lived  there.    I  said  to  Shanks,  — 

"  It's  possible  the  old  man  has  made  a  mis- 
take." 

The  breeze  was  light,  and  it  was  very  warm, 
especially  for  two  suits  of  clothes.  By  the 
time  we  were  through  breakfast  it  was  almost 
calm;  the  wind  seemed  dyi  ^' out.  We  were 
still  some  three  or  four  miles  from  the  shore; 
but  we  had  been  well  exercised  in  the  boats, 
and  it  would  not  be  much  of  a  pull  to  reach 
it.  So,  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  the 
order  was  given  to  lower  the  two  quarter-boats, 
and  for  their  crews  to  man  them. 

"Darn  it!"  said  Shanks.  "I  say,  Eph, 
you  may  have  your  shirt  back:  I  don't 
want  it." 


"  Twas  a  fair  bargain,  Shanks." 
"  I  know  it;   but  you  may  have  the  darned 
thing  back —  I  don't  want  it." 

But  there  were  witnesses  at  hand  who  put 
Shanks  to  shame,  and  I  went  to  take  his  place 
in  the  boat. 

"Where's  Shanks?"  inquired  Mr.  Shooks, 
as  I  went  down  the  side. 

"He  isn't  going,  sir;  he  ain't  feeling  w\'ll, 
and  I'm  going  to  pull  his  oar  for  him." 

"Out  with  it  then,  and  give  the  stroke;" 
and  elated  by  my  success  I  went  to  work  with 
such  a  will  that  I  was  soon  blinded  by  the 
perspiration  ihat  trickled  into  my  eyes.  I  sat 
face  to  face  with  the  captain,  who  never  made 
any  remark  whatever  to  me,  though  he  talked 
all  the  time  with  Mr.  I,  hooks,  and  the  drift 
of  his  conversation  was  landward.  He  said 
Brava  was  a  fearfu'ly  unhealthy  place  — every- 
body had  the  yellow  fever  there.  It  was  as 
much  as  a  man's  life  was  -"vorth  to  try  to  stay 
there  more  than  a  few  hours  at  a  time.  I 
overheard  and  reflected  upon  wuat  the  cap- 
tain said,  and  the  perspiration  poured  down 
me.  It  is  possible  that  the  captain  suspected 
I  had  some  thought  of  staying  there,  and  had 
too  much  regard  for  my  feelings  to  say  to  me, 
directly,  that  the  place  was  unhealthy. 

It  was  very  warm,  as  I  will  again  remark.  I 
don't  know  how  it  happened  to  be  so  warm 
that  morning,  unless  it  was  because  I  had  on 
so  many  clothes.  And  it  was  a  long  way  to 
the  little  bay  where  we  landed.  It  was  a  hot 
little  bay,  or  cove,  with  steep,  craggy  cliffs  all 
around  it.  The  sun  poured  straight  down 
into  it,  and  it  was  warm.  I  could  only  look 
backward,  while  I  was  pulling,  and  could  not 
see  what  we  Wi^^-e  coming  to;  but  I  got  the 
impression  that  it  was  quite  a  different  place 
from  Fayal.  I  could  hear  the  surf  dashing 
upon  the  rocky  shores  ahead,  and  right  and 
left,  and  a  sickening  odor  —  sickening  to  rtfe 
—  came  from  the  land.  It  was  a  smell  of  tropic 
sweets  and  roasted  earth,  as  it  were,  all  over- 
done. Presently  there  was  a  clattering  of 
tongues,  —  Portuguese  tongues,  —  a  braying  of 
jackasses,  a  bleating  of  goats,  a  squealing  of 
pigs,  a  crowing  of  cocks  and  cackling  o*"  hens, 
harmoniously  mingled  with  the  roar  of  the 
surf — and  we  landed. 

I  could  see  no  town,  but  I  could  hear  all  the 
noises,  and  sec  where  they  all  came  from.  My 
first  impressions  were  unfavorable.  I  thought 
I  would  not  like  the  island  for  a  residence. 
There  was  but  a  very  small  area  of  level 
ground  where  we  landed,  the  brown,  barren 
cliffs  rising  almost  perpendicularly  all  around 
it.  Two  or  three  huts  could  be  seen  near  the 
entrance  to  a  ravine,   that  probably  led  to  a 


'56 


GETTING     ON    SEA    LEGS, 


\i 


botttT  K)untry  bcvnid ;  anil  pLMchcd  upon 
shelves  of  the  dills  above,  were  two  or  three 
more.  That  t>in;{Ie  narrow  passa.i;e  between 
the  mountain  ■walls  seemed  the  only  way  b_v 
whieh  people  living  bevond  could  reach  or 
leave  the  shore.  Sliould  1  attempt  it?  I 
could  not  at  once  decide. 

There  must  have  been  a  hundred  natives 
there  to  meet  us.  Probably  there  were  manv 
more, — and  they  had  broujjht  down  a  little 
of  everything  that  the  island  produced  to  sell 
to  us.  They  didn't  know  ihat  I  had  only  two 
dollars  in  my  pocket.  Everything  was  so 
strange,   and    so   noisy,   that  1  was  almost  be- 


^«^ 


wildered.  There  was  no  cessation  of  the 
noises  I  have  mentioned;  everybody  wanted 
to  sell,  and  everything  seemed  to  want  to  be 
sold.  A  goat  with  a  v^jiy  long  beard  looked 
at  me,  and  pleaded  pitifully ;  but  I  hadn't  the 
money  to  spare.  A  donkey  with  a  sorrowful 
face  looked  at  me  as  if  he  had  found  a  friend 
at  last ;  but  I  couldn't  take  him.  Perhaps  I 
might  stay  with  him;   I  could  do  no  more. 

There  was  nothing  to  go  away  from  the 
shore  for— unless  one  had  special  business, 
like  mine.  There  were  rocks  about,  large 
enough  to  sit  on,  and  I  went  :.  little  to  one 
side  and  sat  upon  one,  and   looked   about  and 


rctlected.  I  hail  not  been  there  long  before  a 
line-looking  young  Portuguese  came  to  me, 
and  put  a  question.      .Says  he,  — 

'■  Vou  know  my  broder,  Joseefi"  Ypu  no 
come  Salem  ? " 

I  was  almost  sorry  that  I  didn't  know  his 
brother,  for  I  suw  that  he  wanted  to  hear  from 
him  veryliad;  but  —  I  couldn't  tell  a  lie.  So 
I  had  to  tell  him  that  1  had  never  been  to 
Salem;  and  he  seemed  disappointed. 

"You  'Merican  !     How  dat,  no  go  Salem  ?" 
I   had   to  explain    that  every   American   did 
not  go  to  Siilem;  but  1  thought  he  seemed  to 
distrust  my  sincerity.       He   was   a   fine-look- 
ing  fellow,    neatly   dressed,  ~  that 
^  is,  he  had  on   a  clean   shirt,  —  and 

_^  I  -von!d  have  liked  to  ha'  e  told  him 

S-~  about    his    brother  —  the   more  be- 

cause I  had  a  brother  in  America 
also,  whom  I  wished  to  hear  from 
very  much.  Mow  he  came  to  spenk 
English  so  well  I  could  not  undu'r- 
stand, — unless  he  had  learned  u 
expressly  to  impure  after  his  brother. 
Pjfore  I  was  aware  of  it —  before 
I  was  done  sitting  on  that  rock, 
^■ven  —  the  captain  ^^as  ready  to  go 
liaik;  hi  had  bought  all  he  wanted, 
'i'om  came  to  me  and  told  me  so, 
ami  of  course  I  must  wait  till  anoth- 
er time.  It  was  very  Iwrd,  but  it 
was  all  lair.  The  captain  had  the 
advantage  of  me. 

We  piled  a  lot  of  b^n^nas,  and 
fowls,  and  other  things  into  the 
boats,  and  thei.,  getting  in  our- 
selves, pulled  bi.cl.  towards  the  ship. 
We  were  followed  by  two  or  three 
boats  that  belonged  to  the  island- 
ers, l)ringing  the  goats,  of  which 
the  captain  had  bought  a  large 
number.  The  \veather  had  not 
changed;  still  I  did  not  feel  cjuite 
so  warm  while  going  back.  We 
reached  the  ship  before  noon,  and 
by  dinner  time  all  the  goats  were  aboard,  and 
we  were  ready  to  go  on  our  wav  again  towards 
the  Croze':-,  \n  the  Indian  Ocean,  where  we 
were  to  do  our  first  whaling. 

I  couldn't  help  thinking  of  iiy  shirt,  —  oi- 
rather  of  Shanks's  shirt,  which  I  had  given 
him,  and  which  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might 
as  well  have  kept.  .Shanks,  evidently,  was  as 
much  dissatisfied  as  I  was;  but  it  was  too  late 
to  trade  back  then.  He  did  not  know  for 
some  time  that  he  had  the  best  of  the  bargain. 
We  stood  to  southward  again;  and  before 
night  Brava  was  almost  out  of  sight.  I  had 
fairly  got  my  sea-legs  on. 


-•  lonij  before  a 
came    to  nie, 

seef?    Ypii  no 

iilii't  know  his 
il  to  hear  from 
tell  !i  lie.  So 
never  been  to 
nted. 

lo  go  Salem  ? " 
Ameriean  iliil 
t  he  seemed  to 
s  a  fine-look- 
Iressed,  —  that 
n  sliirt,  —  and 
lur  e  told  him 
the  more  be- 
2r  in  America 
!  to  hear  from 
came  to  spenk 
lid  not  unduT- 
ad  learned  u 
ter  his  brother, 
of  it  —  before 
an  that  rock, 
as  ready  to  ii;o 
all  he  wanted, 
d  told  me  so, 
wait  till  anoth- 
■  hard,  but  it 
iptain  bail  the 

t-in^'nas,  and 
ngs  into  the 
tting  in  our- 
vards  the  ship. 
•  two  or  three 
to  the  island- 
ats,  of  which 
light  a  large 
her  had  not 
not  feel  quite 
g  back.  We 
)re  noon,  and 
•e  aboard,  and 
again  towards 
an,  where  we 

ny  shirt,  —  or 
'i  r  had  given 
e  that  I  might 
dently,  was  as 
it  was  too  late 
not  know  for 
)f  the  bargain. 
1 ;  and  before 
sight.     I  had 


WHALING    ON 

WHALINa  ON  THE  OEOZETS. 

BY    AN    OLD    SALT. 


THE    CROZETS. 


K->7 


I  ALWAYS  enjoy  music.  A  hand-organ 
does  not  disturb  nvj.  Indeed,  I  cannot 
quite  understand  why  so  many  people,  who 
seen:  reasonable  in  other  things,  should  object 
to  hani-organs  being  played  in  the  streets, 
since  it  is  so  delicious  to  have  music  in  the 
air.  The  influence  of  music  —  who  can  tell.' 
It  rouses  to  action,  or  it  soothes  the  troubled 
soul :  and  it  lifts  us  all  heavenward. 

Therefore  I  am  in  favor  of  organists,  every- 
where, and  of  every  kind,  because  there  is 
everybody  to  hear,  and  some  don't  know  one 
kind  from  another.  If  I  were  to  except  any, 
it  would  be  the  old  lady  who  served  under  the 
first  Napoleon,  whose  notes  are  so  faint  and 
squeaky.  She  is  generally  on  the  Common, 
or  thereabout.  One  would  think  that  she 
must  have  played  at  Mos,,,^<w,  and  that  her  in- 
strument took  a  cold  on  that  occasion  from 
which  it  never  recovered,  so  faint  and  squeaky 
are  its  notes.  It  seems  almost  a  pity  that  she 
did  not  leave  it  behind  her  there. 

But  I  would  not  exclude  even  this  old  relict ; 
for,  though  so  wrinkled  and  weather-beaten, 
and  turning  out  such  unlovely  sounds,  she  is 
a  sister  of  mine,  and  I  pity  her.  She  was 
young  once,  and  may  have  been  handsome. 
She  had  a  father  to  love  her  —  as  she  has  still. 
Her  Father  is  my  Father.  If  pity  is  love,  I 
love  her  too.  We  should  all  love  one  another, 
you  know.  I  love  her,  and  would  let  her 
play,  though  her  music  be  ever  so  shaky  and 
squeaky.     Let  her  play ! 

Rut  i  was  going  to  remark  that  our  black- 
smith —  we  called  him  "  Smut''—  was  one  of 
the  "darnedest  fiddlers,"  as  Shanks  expressed 
iL,  that  I  ever  knew.  He  was  born  a-fiddling, 
he  said,  and  it  came  so  natural  to  him  that  he 
couldn't  help  it,  —  he  had  to  fiddle.  He  used 
to  tell  us  that  he  had  done  nothing  but  kill 
cats  for  a  month,  before  beginning  the  voyage, 
so  that  he  would  be  sure  to  have  strings 
enough  for  his  fiddle.  The  old  Toms  made 
the  best  bass  strings,  but  he  preferred  the 
little  kittens  for  the  upper  notes. 

Everv  night,  in  pleasant  weathjr,  Smut 
would  bring  up  his  fiddle,  and  "  make  it  talk." 
Then  things  would  be  lively.  The  waist  of 
the  ship  was  the  ball-room,  and  everyone  who 
could  dance  a  jig,  hornpipe,  or  breakdown, 
performed;  while  Smut  sat  on  the  carpenter's 
bench,  and  fiddled  and  cracked  his  jokes.  I 
used  to  think  sometimes  he  would  fiddle  too 


much.  But  no  ill  effects  ever  camv  from  his 
music,  and  I  am  quite  sure  now  that  a  fiddle 
is  a  good  thing  to  have  at  sea. 

And  so,  getting  a  little  good  at  times,  wc 
jogged  along  towards  the  Ci'ozets.  To  the 
southward  of  the  Cape  of  Gooci  Hope  we  had 
a  good  deal  of  heavy  weather,  and  there  was 
a  wintry  feeling  about  it  that  n:ntle  heavy 
monkey-jackets  desirable.  Inileed,  the  weather 
was  of  that  character  all  the  way  from  the 
Cape  to  the  Crozets  ;  and  so  it  continued  even 
after  wc  bad  arrived  there. 

We  found  whales  ;  hardly  a  day  passed  with- 
out our  seeing  them;  but  they  were  shy.  wide 
awake,  and  hard  to  come  at;  and  the  frequent 
recurrences  of  heavy  weather  made  the  matter 
worse.  There  were  times  when  a  whale  might 
have  blown  without  fear  of  harm  under  our 
very  cabin  windows.  On  these  accounts  we 
were  not  very  successful. 

We  cruised  for  several  weeks,  1  ,it  took  only 
four  whales,  I  think,  that  we  succeeded  in  cut- 
ting in.  Two  were  lost  by  its  coming  on  to 
blow,  after  we  had  got  them  alongside,  so 
heavily  that  we  were  obliged  to  let  them  go. 
And  one  of  those  that  we  succeeded  in  cutting 
in  was  first  let  go  in  the  same  way,  but  recov- 
ered after  the  weather  had  moderated,  and 
after  it  had  been  adrift  so  long  that  it  ;  melied 
—  bad.  It  had  become  filled  with  gas,  —  not 
the  kind  that  Professor  Donaldson  uses,  — 
judging  by  the  smell,  though  that  smells  bad 
enough,  — which  distended  it  enormously,  and 
shaped  it  somewhat  like  a  balloon.  W'e  cut 
that  whale  in,  after  .■>.  while,  but  I  have  never 
loved  whales  since. 

Hardiv  a  dav  passed  i:i  wliicli  we  did  not 
chase  whales,  unless  it  was  really  blowing  a 
gale.  We  pulled  and  pulled,  sometimes  all 
dav,  without  getting  fast,  —  Sundays  as  well 
as  other  days.  If  a  captain  stops  whaling  be- 
cause it  is  Sunday,  it  is  an  exceptional  case. 
It  did  not  happen  in  the  North-Light.  I  sup- 
pose it  is  considered  always  a  work  of  neces- 
sity to  take  whales. 

Sometimes  we  would  get  fast  to  a  whale  that 
would  run  us  almost  out  of  sight  of  the  ship. 
More  than  once  we  had  to  cut  and  let  our 
whale  go,  after  the  ship  was  so  low  down  that 
we  could  see  nothing  of  it  but  its  topsails; 
and  once,  I  remember,  we  did  not  get  back  on 
board  till  long  after  dark.  The  result  of  so 
much  pulling  was  to  make  us  good  oarsmen, 
if  nothing  more. 

Stoven  boats  were  not  rare.  Indeed,  Smut, 
who  did  carpenter's  duty  as  well  as  his  own, 
had  more  than  he  could  do  to  keep  the  boats 
in  repai--.     It  was  fortunate  that  we  had  so 


V- 


:! 


;i 


I 


;i 


158 


WHALING    ON    THE     CROZETS. 


inativ  spnrc  hoaf-i,  for  soinctinu-s  two  or  tliri-t- 
were  waitir)^'  repairs  at  oncc.  I  will  cndoavor 
to  jflvc  an  iili'a  liow  one  nccidtMit  of  this  kind 
happeiu'd. 

One  (lav,  two  or  fliroc  whales  were  "  raised" 
at  the  same  time,  all  near  t()i,'ether.  Tliev 
were  at  least  two  miles  awa\  to  windward,  anil 
the  weather  was  a  little  roiiijli ;  hut  we  low- 
ered all  the  same  in  a  ),'reat  liiirrv,  and  ptilleil 
("or  them.  It  wr)uld  have  done  a  fre.sh-water 
man  L,'ood  to  ha\  e  lieen  with  us  that  dav  ;  lie 
would  have  ijot  well  piekled,  at  least. 

The  how-hoat,  to  whieh  I  helonijed.  almost 
ahvavs  took  tlie  lead  in  a  ehase  ;  for  Mr.  .Sharp 
was  the  most  cner^'etic  of  all  the  mates,  and 
.Seamp,  his  hoat-steerer,  was  in  that  res]ieet 
very  nuieh  like  him.  They  were  both  sir.all 
men,  very  eompactly  done  up.  and  fdled  with 
"  pUiek."  One  beinj,'  in  the  how  and  the  other 
in  the  stern,  it  was  as  if  an  electric  current  ex- 
tended from  one  to  the  other  rii,'lit  through  us 
who  were  between  them,  enablinjj  us  to  oul- 
pull  all  the  other  boats'  crews. 

This  time  we  reached  the  nearest  whale 
ahead  of  all  the  other  boats,  and  our  bows 
actually  touchei!  his  side;  and  .Scamp  shoved 
his  iron  tieep  into  him  before  he  was  aware  of 
our  ap])roaeh.  I  le  breached  .-pward,  ami  rolled 
as  he  sank  back,  the  point  of  the  tin  that  was 
on  our  side  fallin'.'  upon  the  boat's  gunwale, 
crushin;.;  it  down,  but  not  (juite  upsetting  us; 
anil  then,  with  a  tremendous  pat  u])on  the 
water  with  his  flukes,  he  went  down. 

If  so  much  lead  had  fallen  straight  down  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  with  our  line  attached,  the 
rope  could  hardly  have  gone  o\it  faster.  It 
disappeared  from  the  tub  with  magical  swift- 
ness, almost  setting  the  loggerhead  round 
which  it  spun  in  a  blaze,  and  seemed  but  a 
flashing  line  of  light  leaping  through  the  boat 
and  out  at  the  lead-lined  chocks  in  the  bows. 
Avery  short  time  would  hi've  taken  it  all  out; 
but  before  it  was  quite  gone  the  whale  stopped, 
the  line  slackened,  and  we  began  to  Iiaul  in. 

"Now  is  our  time!"  said  Mr.  Sharp.  -'Round 
It  in  ;   he's  ours,  sure  I  " 

It  is  not  so  light  work  as  some  might  think 
to  haul  a  long  whale-line  straight  up  out  of 
the  sea:  but  we  got  it  in  as  fast  as  we  couid, 
while  Mr.  Sharp  changed  place.,  with  Scamp, 
so  as  to  be  ready  to  lance  the  whale.  The 
whale  must  have  risen  almost  as  swiftly  as  he 
had  gone  down,  for  sooner  than  wc  expectel 
we  heard  the  '•  whi-s-h  "  of  his  spout,  and  saw 
his  back  above  water.  He  was  some  distance 
off,  however,  and  immediately  he  started  to 
run. 

"  Haul  in,  men  !    haul  in  I  "  and  we  did  our 


best  to  j»et  in  what  line  we  could  before  the 
whale  should  have  straightened  out  the  slack, 
never  noticing  that  the  second  mate's  boat  was 
fast  to  another  whale  that  was  running  square 
across  our  bows.  In  a  moment,  however,  the 
other  whale  crossed  our  course,  and  we  heard 
a  warning  cry  just  as  our  line  tautened.  Hut 
it  was  too  late;  we  h.ad  barely  time  to  see 
what  the  matter  was,  when  the  waist  boat 
dashed  into  ours  near  the  bows,  and  crashed 
right  through  it. 

There  we  were  in  the  puddle,  our  boat  float- 
ing around  us.  All  we  had  to  do  was  to  keep 
our  heads  out  till  the  first  mate  came  and 
jiicked  us  up;  for  Mr.  Howlegs  did  not  cut 
from  his  whale  — not  at  all  :  he  knew  we  could 
take  care  of  ourselves. 

I  will  only  add  that  our  whale  went  oflT  with 
the  line,  and  the  few  things  attached  to  it,  and 
hasn't  been  seen  since,  to  my  knowledge. 
JJowlegs  wei'-t  towinilward  as  usual,  returning 
on  board  a  little  before  dark,  with  the  same 
old  story  to  tell. 

And  this  was  the  kind  of  whaling  we  had 
on  the  Cro/ets;  and  it  naturally  made  the 
captain  a  little  cross  at  times,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  a  little  of  hi,,  sourness  was  imparted  to 
his  ofticers  and  to  the  crew.  Wc  had  many  a 
rough  pull  when  it  was  of  no  sort  of  use  to 
chase  whales,  for  if  we  had  got  fast  to  one  wc 
could  have  done  nothing  with  it.  \\'e  would 
come  on  board  after  a  long  ehase.  when  it  was 
bree/ing  up,  and  think  we  had  got  all  done 
for  that  day;  but  it  would  not  be  long  till 
"  T-h-e-r-e  she  b-I-o-w-s  1  "  would  come  from 
the  lookout  at  the  masthead,  and  down  the 
boats  would  go  again,  just  because  the  captain 
was  "  out  of  sorts." 

It  was  a  difHcult  matter  to  lower  a  boat  and 
get  into  it  right  side  up,  always.  If  we  tried 
to  get  in  when  it  was  coming  up  towards  us, 
it  was  lial)le  to  go  the  other  way  before  we 
could  reach  it,  and  perhaps  we  would  fall 
about  ten  feet  farther  than  wc  expected  to.  At 
least  it  used  to  scr.-e  me  so;  and  I  never  could 
see  any  sense  ir.  lowering  at  such  times, 
though  I  never  said  a  word  about  it  to  the 
captain. 

One  day,  when  it  was  blowing  unusually 
fresh,  we  had  returned  from  a  long  chase,  with 
nothing,  as  usual.  The  captain  remarked  to 
Mr.  Bowlegs,  while  the  boats  were  being 
hoisted  up,  that  he  didn't  suppose  one  of  the 
mates  cared  a  fig  whether  they  got  fast  to 
the  whale  or  not.  He  said  it  in  a  friendly  sort 
of  way,  but  Mr.  Bowlegs  felt  it,  and  made  re- 
ply that  he  had  certainly  no  reason  to  think  so. 
"  You  needn't   talk   back  to  me,"  said  the 


I 


I'oulil  before  the 
led  out  the  slaek, 
J  inate'K  boat  was 
s  runniiit;  square 
lit,  li()we\er.  the 
se,  and  we  heard 
e  tautened.  Hut 
relv  time  to  see 
the  waist  boat 
)ws,  and  eraslied 

e,  our  boat  lloat- 

0  do  was  to  keep 
mate   eatne  and 

ei,'s  did  not  eut 
le  knew  we  eould 

lie  went  olT  with 
tachcd  to  it,  and 
inv  knowledge, 
usual,  returning 
,  with  the  same 

ivhaling  we  Iiad 
nallv  made  the 
<,  and  it  seemed 
ivas  imparted  to 
We  had  many  a 

1  sort  of  use  to 
)t  fust  to  one  we 
»  it.  \\'e  would 
ISC,  when  it  was 
;id  got  all  done 
lot  be  long  till 
uuld  come  from 

and  down  the 
^use  tlie  captain 

Dwer  a  boat  and 

|-s.     If  we  tried 

up  towards  us, 

way  before  we 

we    would    fall 

:xpected  to.    At 

id  I  never  could 

at   such    times, 

about  it  to  the 

ving  unusually 
ing  chase,  witli 
in  remarked  to 
ts  were  being 
3ose  one  of  the 
ey   got  fast    to 

a  friendly  sort 
t,  and  made  re- 
:on  to  think  so. 

me,"  said  the 


M  O  O  N  L  I  G  H  T     O  N     T  H  E     \V  A  V  E . 


-;"'ir: 


'!    J'i : 


1 


WHALING    ON    THE     CROZETS. 


l6l 


captain,  sharply;  "all  you  have  got  to  do  is 
just  to  fasten  to  the  next  whale  jou  lower  for, 
or,  by  thunder,  I'll  put  one  of  the  green  hands 
in  your  place  !  " 

Mr.  Bowlegs  understood  the  folly  of  trying 
to  carry  on  an  argument  with  the  captain,  and 
the  matter  dropped.  It  was  about  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  The  sky  was  covered  with 
squally-looking  clouds,  the  white  caps  of  the 
seas  were  flashing  all  around  us.  It  looked  as 
though  we  sliould  have  a  rough  night.  No  one 
thought  that  we  should  lower  again  that  day.. 
Mr.  Bowlegs  had  a  troublesome  beard;  it  re- 
quired shaving  often,  and  he  never  underwent 
that  operation  without  shedding  tears.  To 
console  himself,  it  may  have  been,  after  the 
captain's  rebuff,  he  went  down  to  his  little 
state-room  to  have  a  shave.  Mr.  Bowlegs  had 
progressed  to  that  point  where  those  who  have 
tears  to  shed  begin  to  shed  them,  and  a  little 
farther.  In  fact,  he  had  scraped  one  side  of 
his  face,  round  to  a  line  perpendicular  with 
his  nose,  the  other  side  being  covered  with  as 
thick  a  coat  of  lather  as  he  had  been  able  to 
put  on.  At  that  point  his  razor. stopped,  and 
he  listened. 

It  was  that  same  familiar  cry,  —  he  could  not 
mistake  it,  —  "The-r-e  b-1-o-w-s !  The-r-e 
b-1-o-w-s  I  "  He  could  not  mistake  it,  even 
though  he  was  down  below  in  his  state-room, 
with  his  face  half  covered  with  lather.  What 
should  he  do  ?  Before  he  could  ilecide,  there 
was  another  cry  at  the  door  of  the  house  that 
covered  the  companion-way,  and  he  recog- 
nized the  captain's  voice.  "  Stand  by  the 
boats!"  it  said;  and,  no  longer  mindful  of  the 
lather,  Mr.  Bowlegs  dropped  his  razor,  and 
responded  to  that  call. 

I  well  remember  how  he  looked  as  he  rushed 
out  of  the  cabin  and  into  his  boat,  which  was 
already  going  down  the  side,  his  face  just  half 
covered  with  lather.  We  were  all  pleas. d, 
especially  when  the  captain  called  after  him, 
gleefully,  '-CJo  it.  Bowlegs;  you'll  catch  'em 
this  time  !  " 

It  was  rather  hard  on  Mr.  Bowlegs,  who  was 
a  good  friend  to  me,  but  I  had  to  laugh.  The 
captain  ordered  the  boats  down  only  to  plague 
Mr.  Bowlegs,  probably,  for  it  was  ■•  no  weather 
for  fishing,"  and  he  called  us  back  before  we 
were  out  of  hail. 

But  chasing  whales  is  not  the  worst  part  of 
whaling,  to  a  delicate  organization.  There  is 
work  to  do  after  a  whale  is  alongside — dirty 
work,  in  which  oleaginous  matter  accumulates 
all  over  you,  and  over  all  the  ship.  There  is 
work,  and  smoke,  and  gurry,  till  the  whale  is 
tried  out.  We  have  plenty  of  oil  in  our  hair, 
II 


and  plenty  in  our  clothes.  We  take  a  little 
inside,  also,  in  the  way  of  scrajis,  fried  steaks 
of  whale's  flesh,  and,  should  the  captain  be 
generous,  fried  doughnuts, — just  to  preserve 
the  equilibrium,  as  it  were.  It's  wonderful 
how  much  oil  a  whaleman  can  absorb. 

There  is  an  unsatisfying  odor,  too,  that  per- 
vades the  ship  while  the  boiling  is  going  on. 
It  is  not  like  the  sweet  smell  of  spices,  or  the 
rich  perfume  of  tropic  lands  —  not  at  all.  It 
is  a  smoll  of  burning  scraps  and  boiling  oil, 
and  the  yet  uncooked  blubber,  so  miiigled, 
and  so  impressing  itself  upon  you,  that  you 
!  never  forget  it.  You  cannot  escape  it;  though 
I  you  go  up  into  the  top,  or  descend  into  the 
i  hold,  or  enter  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  cabin, 
—  if  you  have  any  business  there, — you  are 
still  in  the  midst  of  it.  And  yet  it  can  hardly 
reach  to  the  tip  enr)  of  the  flying  jib-boom, 
when  the  ship  is  on  the  wind,  and  it  is  blowing 
fresh  ;  but  there  is  hardly  room  for  a  whole 
ship's  crew  to  si  I  there  at  once.  Although  it 
is  not  a  pleasant  smell,  the  mates  all  seem  to 
like  it,  and  the  captain  smiles  sweetest  when 
it  is  thickest.  And  all  good  whalemen  endure 
it  calmly,  because  it  gives  assurance  that  their 
ship  is  filling  up. 

Much  might  be  said  of  whales,  but  it  has 
nearly  all  been  said'  before.  The  whale  has 
points  that  cannot  fail  to  interest  any  one  who 
gets  very  near  to  him  ;  and  the  most  striking 
of  these,  I  may  say,  is  the  tail,  otherwise  called 
"  flukes."  He  has  a  d.ingerous  habit  of  lifting 
it  when  he  becomes  aware  that  an  enemy  is 
near;  and  there  is  no  dodging  it  when  it 
moves  :  a  dark  flush,  and  it  is  all  over.  It  is  a 
great  deal  heavier  than  it  looks  to  be.  You 
might  as  well  be  in  the  way  of  a  cannon-ball. 

I  found  the  tail  always  interesting  when  we 
were  fast  to  a  whale ;  but  after  we  ha'  killed 
him  and  were  cutting  him  in,  my  atu  ntion 
was  generally  turned  to  the  head.  A  right- 
whale's  head  is  so  dift'crent  from  all  other 
heads,  that  one  wonders  at  it.  In  forming  it, 
the  Almighty  seems  to  have  designed  that  this 
greatest  of  all  animate  things  should  subsist 
on  a  kind  of  food  peculiar  to  itself.  M'halemcn 
call  it  '■  squid."  Probably  professors  call  it  by 
some  other  name ;  but  whalemen  care  littic 
about  that. 

".Squid"  is  a  soft,  jelly-like  substance  found 
floating  in  large  fields  in  those  parts  of  the 
oci^an  the  whale  most  frequents.  To  under- 
stand hf)w  he  feeds  upon  it,  we  must  know 
about  his  h  -ad  :  and  I  will  first  say  that  it  is 
very  large  in  proportion  to  his  body.  This 
might  lead  one  to  infer  that  the  whale  has  a 
large  stomach  also,  which  is  not  the  case.    In- 


l62 


WHALING    ON     THE    CROZETS. 


!■  II 


i 


deed  it  is  afSrmed  that  a  right-whale  can  swal- 
low nothing  larger  than  a  herring,  which,  if 
true,  would  prove  conclusively  that  it  could 
not  have  bcjn  a  right-whale  that  swallowed 
Jonah. 

Instead  of  teefh,  the  right-whale  has  set  in 
the  upper  part  of  its  mouth,  upon  each  side 
of  a  strong  bony  keel,  as  it  were,  slabs  of  bone 
—  the  common  black  whalebone  of  commerce. 
According  to  a  description  I  have  lately  seen, 
'•  these  slabs  are  from  eighteen  inches  to  ten 
feet  in  length,  shaped  soi.iewhat  like  a  blade 
tapering  to  a  point  along  the  entire  length,  on 
one  side  being  quite  thick,  nearly  two  inches, 
and  on  the  other  coming  almost  to  rm  edge, 
which  is  fringed  with  fdaments  resembling 
very  coarse  hairs.  The  slabs  are  attached  to 
the  palate  by  their  bases,  hang  down  into  the 
mouth,  and,  from  being  placed  transversely, 
their  edges  are  parallel  and  at  a  very  small  dis- 
tance from  each  other,  the  base  of  each,  as 
•well  as  the  outer  edge,  being  composed  of 
solid  whalebone,  while  the  inner  edge  termi- 
nates in  a  filament  of  the  fibres  mentioned, 
•which  fills  up  the  whole  interior  of  the  mouth 
like  '  curtain  set  across  it." 

7  his  description  looks  a  little  misty  at  first; 
but  by  reading  it  over  several  times,  one  can 
get  the  hang  of  it  and.  understand  it  pretty 
■well.  If  the  commas  had  held  out,  most  likely 
it  would  have  been  made  plainer. 

When  the  whale  feeds,  he  simply  opens  his 
mouth,  and  rushes  forward  till  it  is  well  filled, 
•when  he  closes  it  and  ejects  the  water,  the 
hairy  filament  that  lines  the  mouth  acting  as 
a  strainer  to  retain  all  else  within  it,  and  then 
he  swallows  liis  food.  Repeating  the  process, 
he  goes  on  till  he  has  coinpleted  his  meal,  or 
till  something  disturbs  him,  for  he  is  not  al- 
vays  allowed  to  take  his  dinner  in  peace. 

I  would  like  to  give  the  measurement  of 
son.e  of  our  whales  ;  but,  if  I  ever  made  any 
figures,  I  have  lost  them,  and  cannot  do  it 
now.  Those  we  took  on  the  Crozets  were 
small,  compared  with  those  I  saw  on  the 
North-West  Coast.  I  think  they  averaged 
about  one  hundred  barrels  of  oil  each,  and 
■were  perhaps  si.vty  or  seventy  feet  in  length, 
■with  a  breadth  of  beam  of,  say  eight  feet.  On 
the  North-West  our  whales  must  have  aver- 
aged near  two  hundred  barrels  each.  Once 
■we  captured  two  together  that  made  us  otrr 
five  /iiiiitfrrtl  barrels  of  oil.  I  suppose  those 
■were  about  as  hu-'4e,  possibly  the  largest 
whales  that  were  ever  taken.  There  was  hard- 
ly any  perceptible  dift'erence  in  their  size,  and 
they  must  have  been  nearly  one  hundred  feet 
in    length.       When    secured    alongside,    thev 


reached  from  the  bow  port  of  our  ship  dear 
past  the  stern.  Monstrous  gray  old  fellows 
they  were. 

The  whale  has  some  interesting  peculiarities. 
He  always  runs  dead  to  windward  to  escape 
pursuing  boats;  and  it  would  seem  as  if  he 
must  be  guided  by  something  like  reason  in 
this,  certainly,  for  it  is  the  very  best  course  he 
could  possibly  take.  Owing  to  this,  we  got 
many  a  wet  ride ;  for  to  be  drawn  .it  the  rate 
of  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  an  hour  throui,'h 
combing  seas,  in  a  small  boat,  with  a  taut  line 
keeping  the  bows  well  down,  is  not  conducive 
to  dry  shirts. 

And  when  a  whale  dies,  they  say  he  turns 
his  head  to  the  sun.  Whether  this  is  merely 
a  whaleman's  notion  or  not,  I  cannot  sav.  I 
was  always  thinking  of  something  else  about 
the  time  the  whale  died,  and  forgot  to  notice 
where  the  sun  was :  but  one  thing  I  can  safely 
s-iy :  he  makes  things  lively  just  before  he 
goes.  At  last  the  lance  has  touched  a  vital 
part,  and  the  huge  victim  spouts  out  the  thick 
red  life-blood,  crimsoning  the  water  all  around, 
till  it  is  almost  gone.  Then  comes  the  "flur- 
ry." Sweeping  round  and  round  in  a  narrow- 
ing circle  with  fearful  velocity,  he  lashes  the 
blood-red  water  into  foam  with  his  flukes;  and 
woe  to  the  boat  that  comes  in  his  way.  At 
last  his  struggles  cease;  life  is  gone;  and  the 
boats,  that  have  been  careful  to  keep  at  a  safe 
distance,  approach,  and  taking  the  inanimate 
mass  that  has  made  such  fearful  struggles  in 
tow,  proceed  slowly  towards  the  ship.  To  be 
stripped  of  his  blubber  and  boiled  down,  is, 
after  all,  the  pitiful  end  of  one  of  God's 
greatest  works. 


litui 


if  our  ship  clear 
grixy  old   fellows 

intf  peculiarities, 
thvard  to  o-capc 
d  seem  as  if  he 
g  like  reason  in 
'v  best  course  he 
to  this,  ue  i^ot 
rawn  .'t  the  rate 
ri  hour  tlirouyh 
,  with  a  taut  line 
is  not  conducive 

ley  say  he  turns 
er  this  is  iiurely 
I  cannot  sav.  I 
thing  else  about 

forgot  to  notice 
hing  I  can  safely 
/  just   before   he 

touched  a  vital 
uts  out  the  thick 
water  all  around, 
comes  the  "flur- 
und  in  a  narrow- 
y,  he  lashes  the 
li  his  flukes;  and 
in  his  way.  At 
s  gone ;  and  the 
to  keep  at  a  safe 
g  the  inanimate 
irful  struggles  in 
the  ship.  To  be 
boiled  down,  is, 
one    of   God's 


ACKOSS    THE    INDIAN    OCEAN. 
AOKOSS    THE    INDIAN    OOEAN. 


163 


BY    AN   OLIJ    SALT. 


ST.  PAUL. 


A    LITTLE    1:NI>LKASANTNESS,    AND 
A    l-EARKLL    OALK. 


I  WAS   glad  enougii  to  leave  the  Crozets; 
especially  as  I    could  have  no  chance  of 

escape  from  the  ship  till  we  should  have  gone 

on    nuK-h    farther.     .Shortly   after,    it   was   re- 
ported that  we  were  to  touch  at  St.  Paul  —  a 

lone  bit  of  rock  and  earth  in  the  very  heart  of 

the  Indian  Ocean.    I  hoped  I  should  be  able  to 

get  ashore,  even  there.    With  hardly  a  thought 

of  how  I  should   ever  get   away,   I  was  deter- 
mined that  if  I  could  set  foot  on  land  I  would  j  otherwise  engaged. 

reuMiin  there. 

Nothing  happened  worth  mentioning  till  we 

reached  St.   Paul,   unless  it  was  a  gam  with  a 

Frenchman;  and  I  am   not  sure  that  that  is 

worth   mentioning.     I  remember  it  distinctly, 

because   of  the   little  Krench  doctor  that  came 

on  board  of  our  ship,  with  a  little  red  cap  on 

his  head.     lie  couldn't  speak  a  word  of  Eng- 
lish, but  he  talked  all  the  time,  and  I  got  well 

acquainted  with  him;  which  I  should  not  have 

done  if  I  had  lived  forward. 

Ever  since  I  had  lived  in  the  steerage,  I  had 

had  free  access  to  the  cabin;  tho  captain  really 

treating  me  very  kindly,  giving  me,  besides 

duties  to  perform,  books  to  read,  charts  to 
study,  and  once  in  a  while  a  cake  to  eat.  The 
cakes  were  some  that  his  wife  had  made,  he 
said  ;  and  they  were  very  nice.  He  seemed  to 
love  to  tell  me  about  his  wife  and  daughter,— 
she  was  about  my  age,  he  said,  —  and  about 
his  new  house,  that  he  had  built  for  them  — 
how  nice  it  was,  and  how  much  it  cost,  and 
how  he  expected  to  live  there  with  them  him- 
self some  time.  Just  think  of  such  a  man  go- 
ing away,  to  be  gone  four  years,  where  there 
were  no  railroads,  steamboats,  mail-routes,  or 
anything  of  the  kind!  He  couldn't  exjiect  to 
hear  from  his  wife  and  daughter  very  often. 
Just  think  of  his  telling  me  all  about  them, 
while  I  sat  munching  his  cakes,  determined  in 
my  heart  to  leave  him  secretly  at  the  first  op- 
portunity! I  must  have  been  very  ungrateful 
or  very  homesick.  I  would  rather  admit  it 
was  the  last. 

But  the  little  French  docnr,  -he  talked  at 
me,  and  seemed  determined  to  open  commu- 
nication in  some  way.  At  last  he  caught  hold 
of  me,  and  set  me  down  upon  a  settee  in  the 
house,  and  almost  before  I  knew  what  he  was 
about,  he  had  my  mouth  open,  and  was  in- 
specting my  teeth.    He  went  to  work  on  them 


just  to  say,  "Ugh,"  in  reply.  I  don't  think  he 
helped  them  much.  I  had  not  been  conscious 
of  anv  serious  defect  in  them  before,  but 
shortly  after  I  began  to  have  trouble ;  and  it 
lasted  till  Mr.  Plump  took  my  head  between 
his  knees  one  day,  on  the  booby-hatch,  and 
with  a  hideous,  old-fashioned  thing,  drew  out 
one  of  the  biggest  teeth  I  had.  Of  course  I 
shall  always  remember  that  little  French 
doctor. 

A  "gam"  is  a  mutual  sort  of  visit  between 
two  ships'  crews.  One  or  two  boats'  crews 
from  each  ship  go  on  board  the  other,  and 
spend  an  hour  or  two,  or  a  whole  afternoon. 
These  visits  are  peculiar  to  whalemen,  who 
often  indulge  in  them  while  cruising  and  net 
This  Frenchman  was  a 


whaler,  like  ourselves;  one  of  tlie  few  of  that 
nationality  that  we  met  in  the  course  of  our 
voyage.  * 

We  made  St.  Paul  on  a  cloudy,  gloomy  day. 
It  was  a  desolate,  dreary-looking  place  —  what 
little  there  was  of  it.  It  was  night  before  we 
got  very  near  to  it,  and  we  ran  olf  and  on  till 
morning.  In  the  morning  the  clouds  looked 
lighter,  but  the  sky  was  still  overcast,  and  the 
lone  little  isle  looked  dreary  enough.  And 
vet  I  would  h?.ve  gone  ashore  and  remained 
there  if  I  could;  for  I  saw  a  house  on  the 
island,  which  assured  me  that  somebody  lived 
there. 

But  the  captain  had  no  idea  of  going  ashore 
himself,  even.  It  soon  appeared  that  his  only 
object  in  touching  there  was  to  catch  some 
fish.  St.  Paul  was  noted  among  whalemen  for 
the  fine  fish  that  abounded  around  its  rocky 
shores,  and  our  captain  had  probably  fished 
there  before.  As  soon  as  breakfast  was 
over,  two  boats  were  lowered,  —  neither  of 
them  mine, —and,  being  manned  by  their 
cre^vs,  and  the  captain  besides,  were  pulled  in 
towards  the  dark  cliffs  till  they  were  lost  to 
sight  beneath  them. 

We  kept  the  ship  off  and  on,  running  in  at 
times  directly  opposite  to  the  one  solitary 
house  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs,  but 
saw  no  living  soul  upon  the  island,  nor  any 
other  sign  of  one.  The  house  was  a  great 
barn-looking  structure,  and  I  much  doubt 
whether  any  one  was  in  it  at  that  time.  Al- 
though it  was  such  a  solitary,  forbidding  place, 
I  could  not  but  feel  disappointed,  I  was  so 
longing  to  set  foot  again  on  firm  land. 

Soon  after  noon  the  clouds  began  to  draw 
closer  around  us,  covering  the  sea  with  their 
misty  skirts,  and  shutting  us  in  with  the 
desolate  isle,  as  if  it  were  their  will  that  we 
should   stay.     The  waters   grew  dark,  though 


talking  all  the   lime,  and  all  I  could  do  was  [  the  curling  crests  of  the  waves  Hashed  more 


i 


t 


^ 


164 


I* 


if 


ACROSS    THE     INDIAN    OCEAN. 


brightly,  and  everythinj,'  was  gloomy  and  ;ic- 
pressinfj. 

We  ran  in  towards  the  boats  and  met  them, 
loaded  well  down  with  the  fish  that  had  been 
caught.  They  were  fine-looking  fish  ;  lut  for 
all  that,  I  felt  gloomy  and  disappointed.  I 
had  waited  long  and  come  thousands  of  miles 
for  that  chance,  and  now  I  must  go  thousands 
of  miles  for  another;  and  so  much  fartlier 
from  home.  The  boats  were  hoisted  to  their 
places;  the  ship  kept  on  her  course,  steering 
away  into  the  gloom  south-eastward,  and 
we  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  cleaning  fish  ! 
Thus  sometimes  end  men's  hopes  —  in  the  mist 
and  darkness  here  below;  but  we  all  know 
there  is  a  clear  sky  ahove. 

In  a  few  weeks  after  leaving  St.  Paul,  I  was 
as  far  from  home  as  I  cm  ever  he  in  this  world. 
We  crossed  almost  our  exact  antipodes,  our 
course  carrying  us  to  southward  of  Tasmania. 
■ — VanDiemen's  Land,  as  it  was  then  called. — 
so  as  to  strike  the  most  southern  ))oini.  of  the 
New  Zealand  coast. 

While  making  those  long  runs  from  poiiit 
to  point  of  our  weary  voyage,  tlie  time  passed 
very  monotonously.  The  most  trivial  incident 
became  interesting,  and  any  occurrence  out  of 
our  usual  dull  routine  was  a  tliin  ,<■  to  be  re- 
membered. A  little  trouble  h:  „  heei  brewing 
with  the  steward,  which  culminated  about  the 
time  we  reached  our  antipodes,  and  wiiicli  I 
will  not  pass  over. 

I  have  already  explained  that  the  steward 
was  possessed  of  a  great  deal  of  unattractive- 
ness  externally,  and,  unfortunately  for  him,  he 
took  no  pains  to  counteract  any  false  impres- 
sions his  outside  appearance  might  produce. 
He  was  not  suave.  Ilis  smile  was  always  a 
gloomy  one,  and  evidently,  judging  from  the 
cast  of  his  eyes,  not  intended  for  you.  When 
he  spoke  to  you,  he  looked  at  the  mainmast 
with  one  eye,  and  oft"  the  starboard  beam  with 
the  other.  Such  a  man  could  never  ha\e 
much  success  in  making  love,  especially  witli 
other  men,  and  he  was  never  in  high  favor 
with  the  "people"  forward. 

But  worse  than  this,  he  was  saving;  and  he 
saved  for  the  ship's  interest, — <:r  rather  for 
tlie  owners.  Or  it  may  have  been  for  neither, 
but  because  it  was  so  natural  for  him  to  save, 
lie  had  charge  of  the  cabin  stores,  and  of  all 
except  the  fundamental  articles  of  diet  that 
wore  to  be  allotte.^  to  the  jieople.  The  tea, 
colVee,  molasses,  dried  apples,  all  came 
through  him,  and  were  savored  with  his  stin- 
giness. The  people  murmrred,  and  looked 
upon  the  steward  with  evil  eyes.  The  coftee, 
especially,  was  so  weak,  that  their  complaints 


could  not  fiil  to  reach  the  steward's  ears, 
though  he  seemed  to  heed  them  not.  Thus 
it  was  forward;  and  when  I  went  to  live  in 
the  steer  ige,  it  was  still  more  so  there.  The 
cooper  tlireatened  vengeance  on  "  that  nigger  " 
every  morning,  when  the  coft'ee  came  down. 

The  doctor, —  that  is,  tn..  v -ok,  —  who  was 
as  generous  hearted  as  the  steward  was  sti'igv, 
had  attempted  to  show  the  cabin  functionary 
the  injustice  of  his  course,  venturing  to  speak 
in  behalf  of  the  people.  The  stewartl  would 
listen  in  impressive  silence,  till  the  doctor 
was  all  through,  and  then  reply  with  dig- 
nity, — 

"Doctor,  dese  people  ilon'ro  when  dev's 
well  oil'.  Dey  gets  good  !'I)m  '  —  all  dat  b'long> 
to  um,  and  den  dey  wants  more.  1  telN  \e, 
iloctor,  it's  no  use  talkin' ;  t!ese  t'olks  can't  pre- 
shate  it." 

And  then,  with  his  eyes  turned  lieavenwaril, 
as  nearly  as  he  could  get  them,  he  would 
shamble  aft  again,  his  hands  filled  with  good 
things  for  the  caliin  table. 

This  continued  till  liungs,  for  one,  thought 
endurance  no  longer  a  virtue.  One  da^'  the 
doctor  reported  a  remark  of  the  steward's  to 
this  elVect :  — 

"  You  knows,  doctor,  dat  what  we's  got  to 
do,  is  to  do  our  duties;  an' you  knows,  too, 
doctor,  dat  our  duties  is  to  take  care  oh  de 
perwishuns,  —  what's  in  dc  shij).  .  Do  tea  and 
colVee  b'longs  to  de  owners,  an'  I  sail  use  um 
'cor<fin'  to  dc  hens  oh  mv  /i/</i^/)if)if  .' " 

Then  Bungs,  forgetting  to  whom  vengeance 
belongeth,  took  a  solemn  oath  that  he  would 
have  it  himself;  and  the  steward  was  matle  to 
feel  the  weight  of  his  wrath  the  next  morning, 
the  coft'ee  being  at  that  time  unusuallv  weak. 
He  filled  his  pot  from  the  bucket,  after  I  had 
set  it  down  upon  the  deck  in  the  centre  of  our 
little  apartment,  and  tasted  it.  His  visage 
lowered,  and  he  set  the  pot  down  upon  his 
chest.  Without  uttering  a  word,  he  rose  and 
took  up  the  bucket  and  went  to  the  foot  of  the 
steerage  stairs,  where  h  ;  silently  waited.  Soon 
he  heard  the  well-known  shuftling  feet  of  the 
steward,  as  he  passed  the  hatchway  going  for- 
ward to  the  galley.  Then,  Mith  the  bucket  in 
his  determined  grasp,  he  darted  lightly  up  the 
steps,  and  sprang  after  his  victim.  I  was  just 
in  time  to  see  the  bucket  come  down  with 
crushing  force,  apparently,  upon  the  steward's 
head. 

But  he  did  not  fall.  Instead,  he  took  two  or 
three  quick  steps  forward,  and  then  turned, 
with  an  astonished  look,  and  asked  sol- 
emnly, — 

"Who  hit  me  wid  dat  bucket.'    Bress  me, 


steward's  cars, 
em  not.  Thus 
went  to  live  in 
so  there.  The 
1  "  that  nii,'<,'er  " 
e  came  down, 
'ok,  —  who  was 
.•ard  was  sti'ij^y, 
l)in  fiinetionary 
turini^  to  sjieak 
steward  would 
till  the  doctor 
eply   with   diy- 

"•o  when    dey's 

-  all  dat  h'lonyf>' 

ore.     1  telN  ve, 

I'olks  can't  pre- 

ed  heavenwaril, 
lem,  he  would 
!illed  with  good 

ir  one,  thought 
.  One  day  the 
he  stewaril's  to 

■hat  we's  got  to 
ou  knows,  too, 
ake  care  ob  de 
p.  .  De  tea  and 
«'  I  sail  use  tun 
■^,1/  ! " 

lom  vengeance 
I  that  he  would 
rd  was  matle  to 
next  morning, 
nusually  weak, 
ket,  alter  I  had 
e  centre  of  our 
t.  His  visage 
(own  upon  jiis 
rd,  he  rose  and 
the  foot  of  the 
•waited.  Soon 
ing  feet  of  the 
way  going  for- 
1  the  bucket  in 
I  lightly  up  the 
im.  I  was  just 
ne  down  with 
n  the  steward's 

he  took  two  or 
1  then  turned, 
id    asked    sol- 


THE    p]QUINOCTIAL. 


et.'    Bress  me, 


f 


ii  I 


-j'iilfiiaiiitrtrrife'rifrmii    - 


■'..,.^4.^.,^tt^taie..a»^..^  .,..:., 


ACROSS    THE     INDIAN    OCEAN. 


167 


cooper,  was  dat  vou  ?    Wha'  for  you  go  spoil 
de  bucket  in  dat  way?" 

Tlie  bucket  had  rolled  into  the  lee  scuppers, 
evidently  in  a  damaged  condition. 

"  Never  mind  tlie  bucket,  darky.  I  ought 
to  have  known  better  than  to  smash  it  on  your 
confounded  pate,  of  course  ;  but  mind  ye,  I'll 
use  the  adze  next  time  !  " 

"What's  I  done,  cooper?  What's  you  got 
'ginst  me?  I  alters  does  my  duties  —  don't  I?" 
"  [  sav,  old  squint,  we  won't  have  any  trou- 
ble; but  if  you  don't  give  us  better  tea  and 
coft'ee,  and  a  full  allowance  of  all  that  be- 
longs to  us,  I'll  let  daylight  into  you  in  some 
way  ;  mind  that!  " 

It  was  a  plain  way  of  putting  things,  but  it 
had  the  desired  effect.  We  had  better  coffee,— 
at  least  it  was  thicker  and  blacker ;  and  it  was 
evident  in  other  ways  that  the  steward's  liber- 
ality had  been  much  enlarged  by  the  cooper's 
treatment. 

It  may  seem  that  the  proper  way  in  this  case 
would  have  been  to  go  to  the  captain,  and 
request  him  to  remedy  the  matter.  Though  I 
do  not  know  that  any  direct  complaint  was 
made  to  him,  he  heard  <.f  the  trouble  through 
the  officers,  and  it  was  understood  from  them 
that  he  preferred  that  the  men  should  settle  it 
•witli  the  steward  themselves. 

After  this  affair  we  had  little  to  enliven  us 
for  a  time.  The  next  thing  I  remember  of  in- 
terest, was  a  gale  we  experienced  off  Van  Die- 
men's  Land.  A  gale  at  sea  is  nothing  unusual, 
and  jf  course  we  had  experienced  more  or  less 
of  what  might  be  called  gales  before  reaching 
Van  Diemen's  Land;  but  the  one  we  there 
encounte-cd  was  really  frightful. 

It  was  a  cold,  gloomy  morning  when  it  be- 
gan to  blow.  The  sun  shone  dimly  when  it 
rose,  but  was  soon  wholly  obscured  by  thick, 
fleecy,  driving  clouds.  We  began  to  take  in 
sail,  stowing  and  reefmg  as  the  gale  increased, 
till  there  was  nothing  exposed  but  a  close-reefed 
fore-topmast,  main-topsail,  staysail,  and  main 
spencer.  It  seemed  then  as  if  old  yEolus  was 
doing  his  best  to  drive  us  from  the  very  face  of 
the  deep.  Yet  the  gale  increased,  continually, 
till  by  midday  its  force  was  terrific:.  We  were 
awed  by  it,  but  had  our  dinners  nevertheless, 
the  captain  saying  it  would  be  better  to  go 
down  with  full  stomachs. 

The  captain  did  not  give  much  time  to  din- 
ner, however,  and  after  it  was  o /er,  he  stood 
constantly  at  an  open  window  in  the  house, 
watching  the  main-topsail.  We  had  already 
attempted  to  get  in  the  spencer.  The  ropes 
had  been  manned,  that  it  might  be  brailed  up 
quickly,  and  the  outhaul  was  slackened  care- 


fully; but  the  instant  it  began  to  yield,  like  a 
flash,  and  with  a  tremendous  crack,  the  sail 
was  driven  against  the  shrouds,  pressing  be- 
tween them  so  firmly  that  all  our  strength  could 
not  remove  it.  Every  moment  we  expected  to 
see  the  topsail  torn  from  the  yard,  or  the  yard 
carried  away;  but  everything  held,  and  the 
afternoon  passed  without  accident. 

The  seas  were  not  high,  for  the  pressure  of 
the  wind  kept  them  down;  but  the  ship  was 
tossed  by  the  very  force  of  the  gale,  quivering 
and  plunging  in  a  way  that  most  of  us  had 
never  seen  before.  The  ocean  was  ploughed 
into  furrows  of  foam,  and  the  air  was  filled 
with  driven  spray. 

The  gale  raged  with  the  same  fury  through 
the  day,  and  when  night  came,  it  seemed  more 
terrific,  if  possible,  than  before.  The  thick 
driving  clouds  shut  out  all  light  but  the  fitful 
flashings  of  the  foaming  sea.  The  winds 
shrieked  above,  and  the  strong  timbers 
creaked  and  groaned  below.  At  times  the 
deep  surging  of  the  ship  would  cause  the  bell 
upon  the  forecastle  to  strike  a  dismal  note  of 
warning,  as  it  were,  of  our  impending  doom. 
It  was  a  fearful,  and  besides,  a  very  uncom- 
fortable night;  for  we  were  wet,  stiff,  and 
chill  with  the  driven  spray. 

Through   another  day,   and  till   the  middle 
of  another  night  tlie  gale  raged,  though  not 
with    the    same  fury  as  at  first.     During  the 
second  day  the  sun's  rays  reached  us  occasion- 
ally, though  they  seemed  always  to  have  been 
almost  spent  in  struggling  through  the  clouds, 
and   in   a  little  while  would   fade  out  and   be 
gone.      The    seas    rose    higher    as    the  wind 
abated,    so   that    our    danger   was    increased 
rather  than  diminished.     Before  night  of  the 
second    day,    the    great    rolling   waves    were 
frightfully"  grand.      It   seemed  us   if  the    ship 
would  certainly  be  covered   and  go  down  be- 
neath them.     Their  shocks  made  her  string 
frame   tremble;  .ind   she  would    stagger,    and 
go  down,   as  if  it  were  her  last  struggle,  but 
always  rise,  to  breast  them  again.     At  times 
the  yard-arms  would  dip,  and  the  ship  go  al- 
most ufon  her  beam-ends;  but  the  huge  wave 
would  lift  her   high   upon   it,  and  rolling  on, 
she  would  sink  again  to  meet  another. 

On  the  second  night  of  the  gale  it  came  my 
turn  to  stand  at  the  wheel  for  two  hours,  — • 
from  ten  to  twelve  it  belonged  to  me  to  steer. 
Of  course  there  was  little  steering  to  do,  yet 
I  was  not  allowed  to  be  at  the  wheel  alone  on 
such  a  night.  Phil  Southwick,  an  old  sea- 
man, went  to  stand  my  trick  with  me,  to  keep 
the  spokes  from  being  wrenched  out  of  my 
hands,  and  be  responsible  for  what  might  hap- 


\^' 


i6S 


I       i 


III  r 


ACROSS    THE     INDIAN    OCEAN. 


pen.  It  was  not  .1  l).id  place  to  l>e,  for  it  was 
the  driest  part  of  the  ship,  aiiJ  the  liijht  from 
the  lamp  in  the  liiiiiiacio  looketl  clieerv. 

"  Ease  her  wlun  she  pitelies."  said  Mr. 
HowleL^s.  as  we  took  our  plaees  :  and  witli  a 
loiilidi'nt  'Av.  av.  sir,'  I'liil  y;ave  him  to  un- 
derstand that  he  could  tni-t  us. 

I5ut  wf  could  not  save  her  with  all  our  eas- 
in,!,'.  At  last,  just  lulore  the  wateh  was  out,  a 
tremendous  si-a  Icil  upon  her  liows,  tlirowinij 
her  hfad  oil"  suddeidy  aiui  coverin;,'  tlie  deck 
with  water,  and  the  next  moment  ^notlK■r 
struek  upon  her  slarlioard  quarter.  1'  v  tli>- 
stern  o  liish  and  so  suddenlv  that  tin  ,,'n:.- 
cle  was  eapsi/cd  and.  went  erasliinj,'  to  K  .  v  -id, 
and  there  was  what  sounded  like  a  ;/ 
smash  of  eroekerv  in  tin-  direetion  of 
steward's  pantrv.  IVsidcs.  the  starhoard  (piar- 
ter-hoat  was  ernshcd  up  under  the  davits  and 
hroki'n  eomjiletelv  in  two. 

It  was  very  ilark  for  a  time;  hut  Mr.  Bow- 
letfs  found  his  way  to  us,  and  wanted  to  know 
"  what  in  thunder  we  were  ahout,"  just  as  if 
we  had  done  it  on  purpose.  We  heard  tlie  cap- 
tain's voice,  too.  inquiriiiir  wlio  was  at  the 
wheel. 

"  It's  me  and  Eph.  sir."  said  Phil  ;  and  the 
captain  knew  as  much  .ahout  it  as  hefore.  Mr. 
Bowlei,'s  jjfot  anotiier  lijrht.  after  a  while,  and 
then  we  could  sue  each  other,  ami  what  had 
happened.  Ry  the  time  the  extent  of  the  dam- 
age had  been  ascertained,  and  the  hinnacle 
righted  and  again  secured  in  its  place,  our 
watch  was  out,  and  we  were  relieved  from  all 
further  responsibility. 

Nothing  more  serious  happened,  and  bv  day- 
light next  morning  the  danger  had  passed. 
The  sun  rose  in  a  clear  sky,  there  was  only  a 
gentle  breeze  blowing,  and  the  seas  were  rap- 
idly subsiding.  The  only  damage  we  had  sus- 
tained was  the  stoven  boat,  and  the  parting 
of  one  or  two  futtoek-shr.-nids  under  the  niain^ 
top,  —  though,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  include  the 
steward'.s  crockery,  which,  although  the  pieces 
were  greatly  multiplied,  suffered  no  small  loss. 
But  a  ship  with  which  we  had  kept  compa- 
ny all  the  way  from  the  Crozets  was  less  for- 
tunate. We  had  seen  her  severri  times  during 
the  first  day  of  the  gale,  like  some  dim  jdian' 
torn  craft  driven  by  the  storm,  but  had 
wholly  lost  sight  of  her  before  the  •first  night, 
and  did  not  see  her  again  till  past  noon  of  the 
day  after  it  had  cleared.  We  were  then  run- 
ning on  our  course  with  nearly  all  sail  set, 
when  the  "  Luminary "  was  raised,  olT  our 
beam  to  southward  ;  the  course  she  was  steer- 
ing evidently  converging  with  our  own,  and 
bringing  us  nearer  together.  The  captain 
brought  out  his  glass;   and   having  looked  at 


her  for  a  moment,  said  they  wei  in  trouble. 
The  ship's  colors  were  set.  hut  were  onlv  half- 
mast,  and  they  said  as  plaiidy  as  could  I.e.  that 
something  was  wrong.  We  kept  r.if;  and  the 
other  ship's  course  being  also  changed,  we 
drew  nearer  together. 

I'pon   coming  within   hail,  we  learned  thac 
five  men  had  been  washed  overboard  fro  n  the 
I.umiuary's   decks,    by    a  sea   that   had   swept 
them.  'I'he  same  resistless  wa\e  ha('  swept  the 
whole    five  away,  and  in  the  darkness  of  ni;rl,t 
t    'v   ;,id   been    swallowed  up.      It  was  a  fear- 
fate,  and  our  spirits  sank  at  the  intelligence. 
;     "he   ship   itself  had    sustained  no   seriois   in- 
:  ami,  altera  short  visit  from  our  captain 
■■■.  brother  skipjier,  we  went  on  together  as 
befo 

At  h  ,11  when  we  sat  together  in  our  dimlv- 
lighted  ajiartment  and  spoke  of  what  luul  luip- 
I>ened,  th,  carpenter  thought  it  was  a  great 
wonder  we  had  not  all  gone  down  in  that 
dreadful  storm. 

'■  If  1   had   known  they  ever  had  such  times 
at  sea,"  said  he,  "  I  would  never  have  come." 
"Never  mind.   Chips,"  said  Bungs  ;   "we'll 
get  you   home  all  right  yet;  only  keep  a  stiff 
uj.per  lip.  and  lay  low  when  it  blows." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  .Siuut;  "  as  a 
.general  thing,  folks  live  too  long.  Now,  if 
Chips  could  f)nly  be  taken  olT  in  this  way,  it 
would  be  better  forhim,  probahly,.and  the  rest 
of  us  would  get  along  just  as  well." 

Chips  looked  at  Smut  gloomily,  and  made  no 
reply.     But  Bungs  remarked,  reflectively,  — 

"After  all.  it  can't  nuike  a  great  deal  of  dif- 
ference how.  or  when,  provided  we  do  our  duty 
here." 

"  That's  it,"  says  Smut ;  "  //"  Tfc  tfo  our  ihity 
here."     And  he  looked  hard  at  Chips. 

"  I  ve  done  the  best  I  could,"  Chips  replied. 
"Ay,  Chips,  I  reckon  you  have;  but  you 
made  an  awful  mistake  when  \ou  undertook 
lo  do  e.iriieuler's  ilul_\  ill  the  Old  Nortii. 
However,  we're  all  liable  to  mistakes  ;  and  as 
long  as  they  are  mistakes.  I  reckon  they  won't 
be  set  down  against  us.  J  can't  say  I  wish 
you  any  harm,  Chips.  Just  keep  a  stilV  upper 
lip,  as  Bungs  s.tys,  and  do  the  best  you  can,  and 
you'll  come  out  all  right  at  last." 


|.Maf^ 


GOLD    MINING. 


169 


.■  woi  ■  ill  troul)le. 
It  wen-  oiilv  lialf- 
■  ii><  couUl  111',  tliat 
kupt  oil':  ami  tlio 
Iso  cliani,'(.'il,   wc 

we  Icariu'tl  tluu 
L'il)oaiil  iVo  u  the 

tliat   had   swept 

\c  lia(;  swept  the 

larkness  of  niiflit 

It  was  a  liar- 

llie  iiitellir^'eiue. 
1  no  scrio'is  in- 
fiom  our  captain 
It  on  to<,'ctlier  as 

her  in  our  iliiiily- 
)!'  wliat  hail  liap- 
t  it  was  a  1,'ivat 
e    tiown  in    tliat 

r  had  suih  times 
er  have  conie." 
I  IJniiLfs  ;   "we'll 
inly  keep  a  stifT 
blows." 

lid  Smut ;  "  as  a 
lom;.  Now,  if 
T  in  this  wa;-,  it 
hiy^and  the  rest 
rt-ell." 

\y,  and  made  no 
•efleetiveli-,  — 
;reat  ileal  of  dif- 
I  we  do  our  duty 

Tfc  f/o  otir  diitv 

Chips. 

'  Chips  rejilied. 

have ;  but  voii 
yow  undertook 
le  Old  North, 
istakes  ;  and  as 
kon  they  won't 
:in't  say  I  wish 
i\>  a  stilT  upper 
vst  you  can,  and 


Hydrai;lic  Mining. 


GOLD  MINING. 

BV    CHARLES    A.    HOYT. 

UNLIKE  silver,  i^old  is  usually  found  in  a 
native  state,  though  it  sometimes  occurs 
combined  with  some  of  the  rarer  metals,  and 
as  an  amalgam  with  mercury.  But,  commer- 
cially considered,  these  ores  and  alloys  are  so 
rare  as  to  be  of  no  practical  importance,  and 
are  not  depended  upon  as  a  source  of  the 
precious  metal.  It  is  found  in  veins  which 
are  very  similar  in  general  character  and 
structure  to  those  containing  silver  ores;  but 
the  gold  is  either  disseminated  through  a 
gangiie  of  quartz,  oris  associated  with  iron  and 
copper  pyrites.  Many  of  you  have  seen  py- 
rites. It  is,  you  remember,  a  yellow,  brassy- 
looking  mineral,  composed  of  iron  and  sul- 
phur (iron  oyrites),  or  iron,  copper,  and 
sulphur  (copper  pyrites).  The  two  minerals 
can  be  easily  distinguished,  as  the  former  is 
much  whiter  than  the  latter,  which  is  quite 
yellow,  and  has  often  been  mistaken  for  gold  ; 
hence  it  is  sometimes  called  "  tools'  "  gold." 
Pyrites  is  of  common  occurrence  all  over  the 
country,  but  does  not  by  any  ineuiis  always 
contain  gold,  though  in  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  west  to  the  Pacific  coast,  it  invariably 
carries  more  or  less  of  it.  That  which  you 
have  seen,  however,  appeared  exactly  like  that 


which  has  gold  in  it,  I'or  this  metal  i^  very 
raielv  visible.  When  the  gold  is  in  quartz 
more  or  less  free  from  pyrites,  it  occurs  in 
thin  plates,  threads,  and  grains,  often  making 
very  pretty  specimens,  some  of  which  are  used 
for  pins  and  watch-charms.  But  in  a  great 
deal  of  this  gold-bearing  rock  you  would  not 
be  able  to  detect  an  atom  of  the  metal,  al- 
though it  might  pay  handsomely  for  working. 

Galena  and  zinc-blende  are  occasionally 
present  in  gold  lodes,  though  less  frequently 
than  pyrites. 

These  ores,  like  all  others,  vary  greatly  in 
richness  in  different  veins  and  localities.  Some 
are  profitably  workeil  in  California  which 
vield  only  fue  dollars  to  the  ton.  To  make 
so  low  a  grade  of  ore  pa}',  it  must  occur  in 
large  quantities  and  be  easily  mined  ;  butorea 
which  yield  in  the  stamp  mills  ten  dollars  per 
ton  are  very  frequently  quite  remunerative. 
Those  which  carry  upwards  of  forty  or  fifty 
dollars  per  ton  are  considered  rich,  though 
ores  are  often  found  very  much  richer.  When 
you  retnember  that  a  Troy  ounce  of  gold  is 
worth  twenty  dollars  and  sixty-seven  cents, 
coin  value,  and  that  there  are  twenty-nine 
thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty-six  of  these 
ounces  in  a  ton  of  two  thousand  Avoirdupois 
pounds,  you  will  realize  what  a  minute  quan- 
titv  of  the  mass  treated  is  really  saved.  For 
instance,  in  a  ten-dollar  ore,  only  seventeen 


•^If 


\l 


170 


GOLD     MINING. 


i 


one  thousandths  o("  one  per  cent.,  or  one  fiftv- 
ei^lit  tliouMituI  llirco  luindrcd  and  th'rty- 
setoiul  |)art  ol  the  ore,  is  obtained  as  a  final 
result.  It  s"cins  hardly  possilile  that  any  ores 
can  be  profit.iuly  worked  to  secure  so  small  a 
portioi;  of  tliem 

Most  ot  the  Ko!d-bearin<;  quartz  is  crushed 
in  ••  sta'iip-inills,"  where  it  is  pulverized  un- 
der lart,'e  iron  stamps,  weifjhing  from  four 
jiundred  and  fifty  to  seven  hundred  pounds 
each.  After  it  becomes  quite  fine  it  is  carried 
away  from  the  stamps  by  a  stream  of  water 
over  long,  thin  plates  of  copper,  which  have 
been  coated  with  a  layer  of  mercury  orquick- 
.  ilver.  The  mercury  has  such  an  affinity  for 
gold,  that  it  catches  and  retains  all  that  comes 
in  contact  with  it,  forming  an  amalgam.  This 
amalgam  is  scraped  from  tiie  copper  plates, 
and  heated  in  a  sort  of  iron  crucible  having 
a  cover.  The  heat  drives  off  the  mercury, 
which  is  carried  by  a  pipe  connected  with 
the  cover  of  the  crucible,  or  retort,  as  it  is 
called,  under  water,  where  it  is  condensed, 
and  is  ready  to  be  used  again.  The  gold  re- 
mains in  the  retort  in  a  metallic  state.  Sor.ie 
of  the  richer  ores,  especially  when  nnich  cop- 
per pyrites  is  present,  are  smelted,  and  the 
copper,  as  well  as  the  gold,  saved. 

The  mining  of  gold  in  veins  is  conducted 
in  the  same  manner  as  for  silver;  and  hav- 
ing already  told  you,  in  a  former  article, 
how  that  is  done,  it  is  unnecessary  to  repc.it 
the  process  here. 

Although  large  amounts  of  gold  are  now 
obtained  from  veins,  or  lodes,  far  more  has 
been  taken  from  "  alluvial  deposits."  The 
lodes,  having  been  e.xposed  for  ages  to  the 
action  of  tlie  atmosphere,  the  gnawing  of  the 
frost,  and  the  wear  and  tear  of  streams,  have 
been  slowly  worn  away,  and  the  quartz  and 
ores  broken  into  fragments,  ground  up  into 
gravel  and  sand,  and  carried  by  mountain 
torrents  far  away  from  their  source,  to  be  de- 
posited in  gulches,  valleys,  and  on  plains 
and  hill-sides,  over  which  the  water  once 
ran,  or  stood  in  lakes.  Gold,  being  one  of 
the  heaviest  metals  known,  —  nearly  double 
the  weight  of  lead,  with  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  compare  all  heavy  substances,  —  sank 
more  rapidly- than  the  rock  and  mineral  which 
accompanied  it,  and  found  its  way  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  lake  and  river  basins  over  which  it 
was  conveyed.  In  this  manner  vast  amounts 
of  gold  have  been  scattered  throughout  the 
valleys  and  plains  near  the  mountainous  re- 
gions in  which  the  veins  abound ;  and  it  is 
from  this  source  that  most  of  it  is  taken.  It 
always  exists  there  as  native  gold,  and  has  to 

VOL.   XIV.  —  NO.    242.  39 


go  through  no  complicated  process  to  be  ob- 
tained in  a  met.illic  state. 

From  this  fact,  and  from  its  early  mention 
in  the  Bible  and  all  ancient  writings,  we  mav 
safely  conclude  it  was  one  of  the  very  first 
metals  known.  It  has  been  generally  believed 
for  a  long  time  that  the  ancient  Ophir.  from 
wliich  King  Solomon  brought  so  much  gold 
for  his  famous  Temple,  was  located  some- 
where on  the  south-eastern  coastof  Africa ;  and 
recently  some  who  profess  to  be  wise  in  such 
matters  claim  that  the  new  diamond  fields  of 
that  country  are  the  site  of  that  long-sought 
l.ind,  as  gold  is  found  in  the  vicinity,  as  well 
as  evidence  of  former  workings. 


Pl.iccr  Mining. 

The  gold  in  the  alluvial  deposits  is  usually 
found  next  the  "bed-rock,"  that  is.  below  the 
soil,  lying  in  a  thin  stratum  of  sand  or  gravel 
upon  the  rock  which  underlies,  and  occurs 
there  in  the  form  of  grains,  varying  in  size 
from  fine  sand  to  that  of  a  small  pea,  in  thin 
plates  or  leaves,  and  in  irregular  nuggets. 
Some  very  large  nuggets  have  been  found. 
One  was  discovered  in  Australia  weighing 
one  hundred  and  eighty-four  pounds,  which 
yielded  over  forty  thousand  dollars.  Califor- 
nia has  produced  some  big  ones.  But  the 
largest  ever  founil  came  from  Australia,  and 
was  known  as  the  "  Sarah  Sands."  It  weighed 
two  hundred  and  thirty-three  Troy  pounds. 
Of  course  these  great  nuggets  are  very  rare, 
as  one  weighing  an  ounce  or  two  is  ccnsidered 
of  good  size.  This  native  gold  is  ne\er  quite 
puie,  being  alw.ays  alloyed  with  a  little  silver; 
and  occasionally  a  very  */»rt//quantity  of  cop- 
per and  iron  is  present. 

In  places  the  soil  —  boulders,  sand,  and 
gravel,  termed  alluvium,  or  alluvial  deposit  — 
is  over  two  hundred  feet  deep,  while  in  other 


rocess  to  be  ob- 
is early  mention 
ritings,  we  may 
>t'  tlie  very  firtst 
enerally  believed 
ent  Opbir,  froin 
t  so  much  gold 
5  located  some- 
istof Africa;  and 
be  wise  in  such 
iamond  fields  of 
!iat  long-sought 
vicinity,  as  well 
js. 


losits  is  usually 
at  is.  below  the 

sand  or  gravel 
ies,  and  occurs 
varying  in  size 
all  pea,  in  thin 
•gular  nuggets, 
ve  been  found, 
tralia  weighing 

pounds,  which 
)llars.  Califor- 
oncs.  But  the 
1  Australia,  and 
Is."  It  weighed 
i  Troy  pounds. 
s  are  very  rare, 
ivo  is  ccnsidered 
d  is  ne\er  quite 
h  a  little  silver; 
quantity  of  cop- 
ers, sand,  and 
uvial  deposit  — 

while  in  other 


GOLD    MININC. 


171 


locnliticR  it  is  but  a  few  feet  thick.  'Ih.-  object 
of  mining;  in  these  deposits  is  to  separate  the 
gold  from  llie  dirt  ami  gravel,  and  collect  it 
by  itself.  This  is  called  "  placer  mininR." 
w'hich  is  also  subdivided  into  deep  and  shal- 
low, and  into  bar.  i;ulch.  hill,  and  river  min- 
ing, according  to  the  situation  in  whieh  the 
gold  is  found;  whether  on  bars  ortlats  formed 
bv  streams,  in  narrow  ravines  or  gulches,  on 
hill-sides,  or  in  the  channels  r    living  rivers. 

Various  methods  of  securing  the  gold  are 
used:  but  they  are  all  bused  on  the  great  spe- 
cific gravity  of  'he  metal,  which  causes  it  to 
sink  rapidly  ii  water,  while  the  lighter  rock     it,  while  th 


along  the  angle  formed  by  the  sides  and  bot- 
tom of  Ihc  pan.  This  's  called  ••panning;" 
and  an  expert  pannercan  detect  the  gold  when 
there  is  only  a  few  cent'-'  worth  present. 

In  the  early  mining  ilays  of  Calitornia,  the 
"cradle"  and  '-lorig-tom"  were  generally 
used.  The  former  of  these  is  ihown  in  the 
illustration,  and  can  be  briclly  described  as 
two  boxes,  one  placed  above  the  other,  the 
lower  one  supported  by  mckers,  like  those  on 
a  child's  cradle.  The  bottom  of  the  upper 
box  is  of  sheet-iron,  full  of  small  holes.  Into 
this  box  the  dirt  is  put,  and  water  poured  over 
whole  is  rocked  to  and  fro.     The 


ntui  soil  are  carried  away  by  the  current.  The 
simplest  and  oldest  of  the  contrivances  for 
separating  the  gold  and  the  worthless  dirt  is 
the  "  pan."  This  is  merely  a  sheet-iron  vessel, 
about  the  si/e  of  the  large  milk-pans  you  have 
seen,  but  with  its   s!  Ies  sloping  nuich   more. 


This  is  filled  witli  the  dirt,  or  pulverized 
quartz,  which  it  is  desired  to  test,  and  then 
dipped  under  water,  while  the  mass  is  stirred 
and  softened  by  Ihe  hand.  The  pan  is  then 
taken  from  the  water,  and  a  gentle  shaking 
and  rotary  motion  is  given  it,  as  the  water  is 
carefully  poured  off.  The  motion  causes  the 
larger  pebbles  to  come  to  the  surface  of  the 
dirt,  from  which  they  are  then  removed.  By 
repeatedly  filling  the  pan  with  water,  and  giv- 
ing it  the  proper  motion  as  it  is  poered  out 
again,  all  the  dirt  and  gravel  are  washed  away, 
finally  leaving  the  gold  in  a  long,  thin  layer 


finer  dirt  and  the  gold  are  washed  through  to 
the  lower  box,  from  one  end  of  which  the  wa- 
ter flows  off.  Across  the  bottom  of  this  box 
narrow  strips  of  board,  termed  "  rinie-bars," 
are  fastened,  and  the  gold,  settling  to  the  bot- 
tom, is  caught  behind  them,  and  is  removed 
from  time  to  time.  Fresh  dirt  is  constantly 
added  to  the  upper  box.  and  whatever  does 
not  go  through  the  holes  in  tlu  bottom  is 
thrown  out  by  !•  -.^ni. 

The  long-torn  consists  of  a  rough  wooden 
trough  about  twelve  feet  long,  placed  with  one 
end  considerably  bigberthan  the  other.  Across 
the  lower  e.ul  is  a  piece  of  sheet-iron,  with 
good-sized  holes  in  it,  to  keep  the  larger  peb- 
bles and  rocks  from  passing  through.  A  stream 
of  water  is  introduced  at  the  upper  end.  and 
dirt  is  shovelled  in  and  kept  constantly  stirred 
about,  so  that  it  m.ay  be  thoroughly  disinte- 
grated. The  water  carries  all  but  the  coarse 
gravel  through  the  sheet-iron  screen  into  a 
long  trough  below,  in  which  riflle-bars  are 
placed  to  retain  the  gold.  .Sometimes  quick- 
silver is  introduced  in  the  rime-box,  to  aid  in 
catching  the  precious  metal.  Both  the  cradle 
and  long-tom  are  imperfect  and  slow,  so  that 
they  are  now  but  seldom  used,  being  replaced 
by  sluices  and  hydraulic  mining. 

Nearly  all  the  gold  now  obtained  by  placer 
mining  is  saved  in  sluices.  These  are  of  va- 
rious sizes;  the  smallest  are  long,  narrow 
wooden  boxes,  without  end-pieces  or  covers, 
through  which  water  is  kept  constantly  flow- 
ing, and  into  which  the  dirt  containing  the 
gold  Is  thrown.  Each  box  is  provided  with 
rillle-bars,  which  retards  the  water  somewhat, 
and  allows  the  gold  to  sink  behind  them. 
These  boxes  are  about  twelve  feet  lonLT.  and 
from  twelve  to  eighteen  inches  wide.  One 
end  is  a  little  wider  than  the  other,  so  th.it 
another  box  can  be  fitted  to  it,  and  thus  a 
long  line  of  them  made,  often  hundreds  of 
feet  in  length.  A  large  amount  of  dirt  can 
be   washed  through    them  each   day,   so   that 


i 


GOLD     MININ(;. 


■  <>. 


very  poor  ffrnimd  cnu  he  prnfifably  worked  by 
usiufi  tliciii.  A  mimlior  of  iir'II  i;iti  ;ulil  the 
dirt,  while  one  or  two  are  cinplovetl  in  throw- 
in  j{  out  the  hirt,'erl)()iilders  wliich  inav  tiiid  their 
waviii.  Iiistcaii  ol  h:n  iiii;  wooileti  rillK'-bars, 
tlie  bottom  of  ihi'  boxo-  are  someliiiU'>  eoiu- 
paetlv  puvi'il  wllh  Miiall  pilil)k's,  and  tile  i;okl 
is  iau;,'ht  in  tlic  inter»tiee.s.  Mercury  is  idniost 
alwiiVN  u>ed  to  save  the  tiiier  yold,  wliich 
would  oiluTwi'-e  be  carried  awa.v  by  the  wa- 
ter Frecpientlv  the  siuiies  are  not  cleaiieil 
up  for  a  week,  while  otlier~  are  cleaneii  every 
day,  depeiidini;  on  the  richness  of  the  uround 
wf)rkcd,  ami  the  honesty  of  the  neighbors. 

\'()u  would  not  care  to  hear  in  detail  the 
various  ways  in  which  the  hluice-bii\es  are 
Us«.'d;  ho  we  will  pass  at  once  to  ludraulic 
mining,  which  is  of  more  importance. 

It  is  often  necessary  to  remove  immense 
quantities  of  soil  and  gravel  before  the  p.iy- 
Rtreak  is  reached,  which  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  do  by  hand.  Hydraulic  mining  acconv 
plishes  this  quickly  ami  cheaply.  IJy  means 
of  long  ditches  and  tlumes,  water  is  conveved 
into  large  tanks,  which  stand  high  above  tiie 
place  where  it  is  to  be  used.  From  these 
tanks  the  water  is  carried  through  large  can- 
vas hose  to  the  desired  locality,  ami  directed 
against  the  bank  or  hill  to  be  waslied  awav. 
By  having  the  tanks  so  high,  a  great  pressure 
is  obtained,  and  the  water  is  thrown  through 
the  nozzle  at  the  end  of  the  hosc  with  im- 
inense  force.  It  is  like  the  stream  from  a 
steam  fire-engine,  only  very  much  more  pow- 
erful. Several  streams  are  used  at  once,  and 
you  can  hardly  imagine  the  amount  of  work 
they  accomplish.  High  banks  and  large  hills 
seem  to  melt  before  them,  so  rapidly  are  they 
borne  away. 

All  the  soil  and  debris  are  carried  into  large 
sluices  by  the  water.  These  .sluices  are  often 
six  or  seven  feet  in  width,  and  are  very  long. 
Thev  an'  paved  with  sections  of  large  trees, 
or  with  stones,  and  the  gold  settles  in  the 
spaces  between  them.  They  have  to  be  very 
strong  and  durable,  as  boulders  weighing 
sevi-rul  hundred  pounds  are  often  carried  with 
the  streain.  You  would  not  suppose  that 
rnucb  of  the  gold  would  be  caught  in  such 
rude  and  imperfect  contrivances  as  these 
sluices  appear  to  be;  but  they  answer  the  pur- 
pose very  well;'  and,  as  I  have  before  said, 
nearly  all  the  gold  is  saved  in  them  which  is 
obtained  from  placer  mines.  There  was  a 
gravel  bed  in  California  inade  to  pay  quite, 
well  by  hydraulic  mining,  which  yielded  .it 
the  rate  of  only  three  cents  per  ton  of  grarcl. 
Over  four  thousand  tons  were  washed  down 


each  dav.  This  i»  the  poorest  di'*  .ver  made 
to  pay,  1  believe. 

Large  sums  of  money  have  been  expended 

in  getting  water  for  hyilraulic  mining.  The 
ground  to  be  worked  is  often  so  liiyh  above 
the  neighboring  streams  that  the  water  from 
them  cannot  he  made  available;  so  it  has  to 
be  brought  lung  ilistances  in  ditches  and 
llumcs.  A  lUmie  is  merely  a  wooden  trough, 
usuallv  supported  on  trestle-work,  and  is  used 
to  carry  the  water  over  deep  valleys  and  ra- 
vines. One  of  the  illustrations  to  this  article 
shows  a  thinie  belonging  to  one  of  the  main 
tlitcli  companies  of  California.  The  aggre- 
gate length  of  tl;e  ditch,  with  its  side-branch- 
es, is  over  tvv.)  hundred  miles,  anil  its  cost  was 
about  one  million  dollars.  There  is  another 
company  in  that  state  which  has  a  ditch  that 
has  cost  six  hundred  thousand  ilollars.  These 
companies  sell  the  water  to  the  miners,  and 
make  a  great  deal  of  money  by  the  operation. 


Sluice  Dux. 


In  some  places,  where  a  number  of  parties 
are  mining,  and  where  the  sluices  used  by 
them  fail  to  sav;  the  greater  portion  of  the 
gold,  a  long  linv*  of  large  sluice-boxes  is  erect- 
ed lower  in  the  valley,  and  all  the  water  from 
above  is  carried  through  them,  anil  thus  a 
good  part  of  the  remaining  gold  is  caught. 
These  are  called  "  tail-sluices." 

Sometimes  small  rivers  are  turned  from 
their  regular  channels,  and  their  old  beds 
worked  over  by  the  indefatigable  miners.  This 
is  cal'.ed  river-mining,  and  is  very  uncertain, 
though  it  often  pays  extremely  well. 

Gold  has  also  been  found  in  paying  quanti- 
tL's  in  some  of  the  sands  o(  the  Pacific  coast. 
It  originally  existed  in  the  sandstone  rocks  of 
that  locality,  and  these,  having  been  worn 
away  by  the  waves,  have  left  the  gold  on  the 
beach.  This  is  collected  at  low  tide  and  car- 
ried away  to  some  neigliboring  stream,  and 
washed  in  a  cradle  or  long-tom. 


-t  di--'  .vcr  made 

0  hccii  oxpeiuled 
ic  miiiirii,'.     The 

1  so  lii'^li  aliove 
t  the  water-  iVoin 
'Ic  ;    so    it  has  to 

in    (liti-hi-s    and 
wooden  trough, 
vork,  and  i>  iisi-d 
vallovs   and  ra- 
ils to  this  article 
)ne  of  tlie  main 
ia.      'I'lie   aiftjre- 
its  side-braiu:h- 
and  its  cost  was 
riiere  is  another 
lias  a  ilitch  tliat 
iloihirs.     These 
the   miners,  and 
y  the  operation. 


liber  of  parties 
sluices   used  bv 

portion  of  the 
;-boxes  is  crect- 

the  water  from 
m,  and  tliiis  a 
;old   is  caught. 

L-  turned  from 
their  old  beds 
le  miners.  This 
rerv  uncertain, 
well. 

paviiiij  quanti- 
L"  Pacific  coast. 
Istone  roclis  of 
ng  been  worn 
he  gold  on  the 
V  tide  and  car- 
ig  stream,  and 


GOLD    MINING. 


'7.1 


But  cnouph  lias  been  written  to  pive  vou 
an  idea  of  gold-mining  in  its  various  bran;'h- 
e«.  so  that  I  will  not  tire  vou  bv  entering  into 
further  details.  It  is,  on  the  whole,  a  hard 
and  laborious  business.  \  ears  are  sometimes 
spent  bv  the  miner  in  getting  at  some  partic- 
ular point  in  a  favorite  locality,  where  be  ex- 
pects to  obtain  n  golden  harvest;  but  often  he 
find-  that  all  his  labor  has  been  in  vain,  and 
the  gold  has  existed  ()nl>  in  bis  imagination. 


ilistanco,"  has  been  verified.  He  has  but  o 
make  his  way  back,  a  sadcier  and  a  poorer 
man. 

Such  are  some  of  the  dark  sides  of  a  miner's- 
life:  but  it  also  has  its  brighter  features. 
Di'.ms  are  not  always  carried  away,  nor  tun- 
nels driven  in  vain,  nor  journeys  always  fruit- 
less. Large  fortunes  are  sometimes  quickly 
maile,  and  the  poor,  ragged  miner  is  trans- 
formed into  the  revered  and  respected  capi- 
talist. A  few  square  yaids  of  earth  have 
made  manv  a  miner's  I'ortune.  Hut  those  who 
embark  in  mining  with  the  iilea  that  they  will 
ac(|uire  wealth  without  hard  work,  and  with- 
out years  of  patient  perseverance,  will  gener- 
ally tind  themselves  sadly  mistaken.  Perse- 
verance ami  industry  are  more  necessary  in 
mil.  ig  than  in  almost  any  business  known. 
And  you  will  find,  my  kind  readers,  what- 
ever pursuit  you  follow,  that  these  are  the 
requisites  for  success,  and  without  them  you 
mav  as  well  look  for  gold  in  I'lymouth  granite 
as  to  hope  lor  fame  or  lortiine. 


A  Flume. 

Rivers  arc  successfully  turned  from  their 
course,  after  ni'ich  tioublo  anti  expense,  and 
the  happy  workmen  think  that  on  the  morrow 
they  can  begin  to  realize  the  fortune  they  feel 
is  in  store  for  them.  That  night,  perhaps,  a 
ftorm  rages  far  up  among  the  snow-covered 
mountains,  and  the  tiny  stream  is  in  a  few- 
hours  swollen  to  a  mad.  resistless  torrent, 
which  tears  away  the  petty  dam.  and  in  a 
moment  effaces  the  v/ork  of  montlis,  leaving 
the  miner  nothing  but  !;;  ,'olden  visions  ami 
a  lost  summer  to  reflect  up    n. 

A  report  comes  in  that  in  a  remote  corner 
of  some  distant  wilderness  gold  is  being 
found  in  fabulous  quantities.  The  miner, 
always  seeking  something  richer  than  he  pos- 
sesses, hurriedly  packs  his  few  traps  and  tools. 
and  hastens  awav  to  the  new  land.  After  a 
painful  and  dangerous  journey,  filled  with 
hardships  and  privii'lonc,  he  reaches  the 
promised  land  oniv  to  find  once  more  that 
the  old  maxim,  ''Green  fields  are  ever  in  the 


J  74 


SILVER    MINING. 


Miners  at  Work. 


SILVER  mmm, 

BY   CHARLES    A.    IIOYT. 

LONG  ago,  when  gold  .ind  silver,  in  the 
shape  of  coin,  were  more  common  than 
row,  I  used  often  to  wonder  where  and  in 
what  condition  these  metals  were  found.  I 
was  told  they  were  "dug "from  the  earth; 
but  this  reply  was  never  very  satisfactory,  nor 
did  it  throw  much  more  light  on  the  subject 
than  I  had  before.  Perhaps  it  is  the  same  with 
some  of  you,  so  that  it  may  be  interesting  to 
know  how  they  occur,  and  the  way  they  arc 
mined.  I  will  try  to  tell  you.  As  I  am  writing 
from  a  region  where  silver  is  foiiini,  we  will 
give  our  attention  to  that  metal  first,  and  per- 
haps at  another  time  I  will  give  you  some 
facts  about  gold  mining. 

Silver  is  seldom  found  in  large  quantities 
in  its  native  state;  that  i>.,  it  is  usually  com- 
bined with  other  metals  and  earths;  altliough 
it  is  said  that  a  ir.ass  of  silver  was  discov- 
ered, many  years  ago,  in  one  of  the  mines 
of  Germany,  from  off  which  the  king  and  all 
his  court  ate  their  dinner.  This  is  a  rare 
exception,  however,  for  almost  always  it  oc- 
curs as  an  ore.  The  richest  silver  ores  are 
sulphurets  ot  silver,  that  is,  silver  chemically 
combined  with  sulphur;  and  chloride  of  sil- 
ver, or  silver  united  with  chlorine.  There 
are  manv  varieticfj  of  the  former  ore,  where 
other  metals    acconjpany  the  silver.      Lead, 


copper,  arsenic,  and  antimony  are  most  fre- 
quently associated  with  it  in  this  way.  Prob- 
ably most  of  you  have  seen  galena,  the  prin- 
cipal ore  of  lead,  which  is  simply  that  metal 
combined  with  sulphur.  Thei-e  is  scarcely 
any  of  it  which  does  not  contain  more  or  loss 
of  silver;  and,  indeed,  a  very  large  portion 
of  the  silver  produced  is  derived  from  lead 
ores. 

The  ores  vary  greatly  in  richness,  some 
containing  onlv  a  few  dollars'  and  others  sev- 
eral thousand  dollars'  worth  to  the  ton.  A 
pure  cliloride  of  silver  contains  over  twenty- 
eight  thousand  dollars,  and  some  forms  of 
sulphurct  ores  over  thirty  thousand  dollars 
in  silver  to  tlie  ton  of  ore  ;  though  they  are  not 
found  to  any  extent  in  a  pure  state,  but  are 
mined  with  other  ores,  rocks,  and  earthy  mat- 
ter. In  the  old  world,  where  labor  is  \i.-.; 
cheap,  ores  carrying  from  twenty  to  thirt} 
dollars  a  ton  can  be  worked  at  a  profit.  13ul 
here  (Colorado)  silver  ores  containing  much 
less  than  eighty  dollars  a  ton  cannot  at  pres- 
ent be  worked,  owing  to  the  high  price  of  la- 
bor and  supijlic..  Of  course,  where  there  is 
much  lead  present  it  can  be  saved  too,  so 
that  such  an  ore  need  not  contain  as  much 
silver  to  be  mined  profitably.  But  I  m.iy  be 
tiring  you  by  saying  so  much  about  the  ores; 
so  we  will  now  see  how  and  where  they  an; 
found. 

They  always  occur  in  veins.     By  a  '*  vein  "  I 


-i^L* 


iniony  are  most  fre- 
in  this  way.  Prob- 
en  galem,  the  prin- 
is  simply  that  metal 
There  is  scarcely 
contain  more  or  less 
.  very  large  portion 
s   derived  from  lead 

in  richness,  some 
lars'  and  others  sev- 
)rth  to  the  ton.  A 
ntains  over  twenty- 
aiul  some  tbriiis  of 
ty  thousand  dollars 
though  they  are  not 

pure  state,  hut  are 
cks,  and  earthy  mat- 
.vhere  labor  is  vc.j 
n  twenty  to  thirtj 
.ed  at  a  profit.  But 
es  containing  much 
,  ton  cannot  at  pres- 
the  high  price  of  la- 
irse,  where  there  is 
1  be  saved  too,  so 
)t  contain  as  much 
.bly.  But  I  may  be 
inch  about  the  ores  ; 
and  where  they  ;in; 

ins.     By  a  '•  vein"  I 


SILVER   MINING. 


175 


mean  a  fissure,  or  immense  crack,  in  the  |  average  width  is  from  three  to  six  feet.  In 
earth's  crust,  of  great  depth  and  length,  but  j  Mexico  there  is  a  famous  silver  mine  which  is 
varying  in  width  from  a  few  inches  to  many  in  >ome  places  seventy  feet  wide;  and  the 
feet,  whicli  has  been  filled  with  the  ore  and  |  Comstock  lode  of  Nevada  is  often  over  one 
rock.  The  rock  filling  these  fissures  or  cracks  hundred  fee  'n  width,  and  at  other  points  only 
is  usually  dificrcnt  from  that  surrounding  it,     a  few  leet. 


and  is  called  "  gangue-rock."  The  sides  of  the 
vein  are  termed  ••  wall-rocks."  Sometimes 
these  veins  are  perpendicular,  and  others  slant, 
or  "  dip,"  as  it  is  called,  so  much  that  one 
can  walk  down  them  when  opened  by  mining. 
You  may  ask  where  the  silver  came  from  to 
get  into  these  fissures.  That  question  has 
puzzled  a  great  many  wiser  heads  tlian  yours 
and  mine,  and  has  not  yet  been  definitely  an- 
swered;  so  we  will  not  try  to  solve  it  here. 
Let  us  be  satisfied  to  find  it  in  the  veins,  with- 
out troubling  ourselves  just  now  as  to  'ts 
origin. 

Some  veins  are  soft  and  easily  worked,  and 
others  are  as  hard  as  granite.  There  are  very 
few  indeed  which  can  be  worked  without  blast- 
ing. The  ore  is  sometimes  scattered  through 
the  gangue-rock,  and  .it  times  it  occurs  as  a 
little  vein  by  itself,  enclosed  by  the  gangue, 
and  varying  greatly  in  thickness,  being  at 
one  p'ace,  for  example,  six  inches  thick,  and 
at  anoLher  point,  only  a  lew  feet  d'stant,  but 
an  inch,  then,  a  few  yards  deeper,  a  foot  thick, 
and  so  on.  If  you  should  take  a  very  uneven 
eheet  of  lead,  at  some  points  very  thick  and 
at  others  quite  thin,  and  pl.-ice  it  on  its  edge 
in  a  large,  thin,  but  deep  box,  such  as  large 
panes  of  glass  usually  come  in,  and  should 
then  fill  up  on  each  side  of  the  lead  with  sand, 
you  would  have  quite  a  fair  representation  of 
an  ore  vein,  or  "  lode,"  in  which  the  lead  would 
be  the  ore,  the  sand  the  gangue,  and  the  sides 
of  the  box  the  wall-rocks. 

But  the  wall-rocks  are  never  as  regular  and 
smooth  as  tiie  sides  of  the  box,  but  often  come 
close  together,  almost  cutting  the  vein  off;  then 
again  they  bulge  out  like  a  sail  in  a  gale  of 
wind,  making  the  vein  very  wide  between 
them.  Thus,  you  see,  an  ore  vein  is  very  ir- 
regular, here  rich  and  there  poor,  narrow  in 
one  place  and  wide  in  another.  When  a  lode 
becomes  pinched  and  without  ore,  it  is  said 
to  be  in  "  cap."  These  "  caps,"  or  pinches, 
are  often  extensive,  and  are  great  obstacles  in 
working  a  mine. 

Some  veins  can  be  traced  along  the  purface 
for  miles,  and  others  can  be  followed  for  but 
a  few  hundred  feet.     In  Europe  there  are  silver 


1  he  ore  in  some  veins  is  rich,  and  in  others 
poor,  and  it  also  varies  greatly  at  different  lo- 
calities on  the  same  vein.  Lodes  are  generally 
found  in  mountainous  regions,  where  earth- 
quakes ai  d  volcanoes  formerly  prevailed,  and 
in  the  same  districts  the^  usually  have  the  same 
course  or  direction. 

Having  learned  how  the  veins  most  fre- 
q.iently  occur,  we  will  now  see  how  they  are 
worked.  I  will  describe  mini. ig  as  it  is  con- 
ducted here;  for,  although  each  locality  has 
its  peculiarities,  the  general  principles  of  min- 
ing are  the  same  everywhere. 


,^N,^^V\ 


Vein  of  Ore. 

The  first  t'''"g  to  be  done  is  to  sink  a  shaft, 
which  is  a  sort  of  well  dug  en  the  vein.  It  is 
from  eight  to  twelve  feet  long,  and  about  four 
feet  wide,  with  the  corners  square,  and  is  sunk 
as  nearly  perpendicular  as  it  can  be  and  yet 
follow  the  ore  vCin.  Until  the  solid  rock  is 
reached  the  shaft  is  sunk  with  a  shovel  and 
pickaxe,  after  which  it  becomes  necessary  to 
blast.  Pieces  of  round  steel,  about  an  inch  in 
diameter  a  id  from  one  to  four  feet  long,  sharp- 
ened at  one  end  like  a  cold-chisel,  arc  called 
drills.  Tiiese.  with  a  hammer  weighing  from 
six  to  eight  pounds,  are  the  principal  tools 
used  in  blasting.  Our  shaft  is  down  to  the 
solid  rock,  we  will  suppose.  One  man  now 
takes  a  short  drill  and  places  its  sharpened 
mines  which  have  been  worked  to  a  depth  of  '  edge  on  a  suitable  part  of  the  rock;  another 
three  thousand  feet,  and  as  yet  no  bottom  or  ;  seizes  the  hammer  with  both  hands  and  stnkes 
end  found.  As  to  the  width,  thev  vary  greatly,  |  the  head  of  the  drill,  lightly  at  first,  unt.l  the 
as  I  have  before  said,     'n  this  vicinity  their  1  hole  is  fairly  started,  and  then  with   his  lull 


ii 


176 


SILVER    MINIls'G. 


strength.  The  one  holding  the  drill  turns  it 
partially  around  between  the  strokes,  and  thus 
it  cuts  its  way  into  the  rock,  niakini;  a  hole  a 
little  larger  than  its  own  diameter.  When  it 
is  a  few  inclies  deep,  water  is  poured  in  to 
make  it  bore  easily.  From  time  to  time  the 
fine  rock  is  scraped  out  with  an  iron  scraper, 
and  the  drill  is  changeil  a^  soon  as  dulled. 
The  hole  is  usually  sunk  iVom  two  to  three 
feet,  when  it  is  ready  to  load.  It  is  now  care- 
fully cleaned  anti  dried.  A  piece  of  fuse,  a 
little  longer  than  the  bole  is  ileep,  is  inserted 
anil  belli  on  the  upjier  side  of  the  hole.  A  few 
inches  of  jjowder  are  added  next,  then  fine 
dirt  is  pushed  down  with  a  stick  until  the 
powder  is  covered  several  inches  deeii,  when 
more  dirt  is  put  in  and  forced  do^vn  by  an  ircm 
bar,  under  light  blows  from  a  hannner,  until 
the  hole  is  filled.  This  latter  part  is  called 
••tamping."  The  fuse  is  lighted,  and  '.be  men 
retire  until  the  ])owder  is  exploded.  Some- 
times it  fails  to  go  oil",  in  which  case  the  tamp- 
ing lias  to   be    drilled   out   and    a   new  charge 


ircn.l 


Drift. 


Inserted.  This  is  very  dangerous,  as  often, 
■while  it  is  being  re-dril!eil,  the  powder  takes 
fi.-e.  Many  a  life  has  been  lost  in  this  way. 
Occasionally,  too,  the  jiowder  "  blows  tamp- 
ing; "  that  is,  blows  out  the  dirt  from  the  hole 
without  breaking  the  lock,  in  which  ca'^c  a 
newcbargc  is  put  in  and  morecarefidly  tamped. 
But  our  shot  was  successt"ul.  and  broke  a  good 
quantity  of  rock,  which  the  men  are  clearing 
away,  so  that  they  can  sta;l  another  hole. 

Thus  they  will  keep  on  until  the  shaft  is 
about  ten  feet  deep,  when  a  windlass  will  be 
necessary  to  raise  the  rock  with.  The  wind- 
lass has  a  crank  at  both  ends,  and  has  an  inch 
rope  aroimd  it,  to  which  is  attached  a  bucket 
made  of  a  half  barrel.  With  this  the  shaft 
can  be  .sunk  about  one  hundred  feet,  when  an 
engine  or  a  hor,se  will  be  needed  for  hoisting 
the  rock  and  water,  as  nearly  all  mines  are 
wet,  from  the  water  leakim;  through  the  crev- 
ice from  the  surface,  and  sometimes  springing 
up  from  below. 


This  drilling  you  will  think  is  slow  work. 
So  it  is,  as  it  ol'ten  takes  two  or  three  hours  to 
drill  a  single  hole.  At  first  you  would  hardly 
care  to  hold  the  drill  while  anothei  was  strik- 
ing; but  the  miners  are  very  expert,  and  sel- 
dom miss  their  stroke.  Sometimes  two  strike  ; 
and  in  some  countries  the  miner  holds  the 
drill  with  one  band  and  strikes  with  the  other, 
which  is  called  "  single-band  drilling."  In  the 
latter  case  the  steel  and  hamme'-  are  both 
smaller  than  tbo-e  I  have  mentioned. 

When  the  shaft  is  about  sixty  feet  deep, 
"  drifts  "  arc  started.  The>e  are  galleries  bi'^h 
enough  for  a  I'lan  to  walk  in.  .iiui  about  four 
feet  wide  (depe'idingon  the  width  nl  the  vein)i 
following  boriiontally  along  the  lode  each 
way  from  the  shaC  As  they  increase  in 
length,  the  broken  rocK  is  wheeled  back  tu  the 
shaft  and  raised  to  the  surface.  When  tha 
dril"ts  are  in  far  enough  from  the  shaft,  work 
is  resumed  there,  and  it  is  sunk  another  sixty 
or  a  bill,  'red  feet,  where  two  more  ilrit'ts  are 
started,  the  same  as  the  ones  just  described. 

You  may  ask  what  is  the  use  of  the  shall 
and  drifts,  as  they  cannot  produce  any  great 
amount  of  ore.  Well,  they  cannot.  Some, 
of  course,  has  been  taken  out,  but  the  work 
thus  far  has  probably  cost  more  than  the  ore 
i^  worth.  Wc  liave  only  been  getting  ready 
to  work.  Now  we  can  begin  to  "  slope  "  (pro- 
iKiimce  the  o  iorig\  I  don't  know  whether  I 
can  make  _\ou  understand  what  "sloping"  is, 
but  I  will  try. 

In  sinking  the  shafts  and  running  the  drills, 
we  have,  you  remember,  followed  the  ore  vein, 
M)  that  as  3'oii  stand  in  the  former  the  ore  is 
in  the  bottom  anil  each  end  of  it.  and  in  the 
drifts  is  over  our  heads  and  under  our  feet. 
Now  you  can  see  that  it  will  be  a  great  deal 
easier  to  break  down  the  \ein  above  the  drift, 
than  it  was  to  open  the  drift  itself.  That  is 
called  "  overhand  "  or  "  back  sloping."  If  we 
should  drill  a  hole  in  tlie  lloor  of  the  drift 
near  the  shaft,  you  see  the  powder  would  have 
a  good  chance  to  throw  the  rock  out  into  the 
shat't;  this  is  called  "underhand  slojiing." 
We  will  onl}'  attend  to  "  back  sloping." 

The  drifts  are  now  cpiite  long,  and  we  can 
begin  to  take  out  ore  in  paying  ipiantities. 
We  will  put  the  men  at  work  where  the  drift 
starts  from  the  shaft.  They  will  blast  down 
the  rock  over  the  drift  for  a  space  six  or  seven 
feet  high,  and  about  as  wide  as  the  drift  itself. 
All  of  the  broken  rock  will  fall  into  the  "  level" 
(same  as  drift),  be  wheeled  out  to  the  shaft, 
and  from  there  raised  to  the  surface.  Thus 
the  two  miners  will  be  cutting  a  new  drift,  you 
might  say,  over  the  old  one,  or  making  the  old 


M 


T 


SILVER    MINING. 


ik  i«  slow  work, 
or  three  hours  to 
■oil  would  hardly 
lothoi  was  strik- 
expcrt.  and  sel- 
tinies  two  strike ; 
miner  holds  the 
rs  with  the  other, 
.Irilling."  In  the 
imnic-  are  hoth 
ntioiied. 
sixty  feet  deep, 
ire  galleries  hi.;h 
.  .iiiil  uboiit  lour 
idth  of  tlie  vein), 
f  the  lode  each 
hey  increase  in 
eeled  back  tu  the 
rue.  Wiien  the 
the  slKil't,  work 
Ilk  another  sixty 
more  drifts  are 
jnst  ilescrihed. 
use  of  the  shaft 
oduce  any  great, 
cannot.  Some, 
it,  but  the  work 
lore  than  the  ore 
?n  getting  ready 
to  ••  slope  "  (pro- 
know  whether  I 
at  "  stopiiig  "  is, 

lining  the  drifts, 
wed  the  ore  vein, 
ariner  the  ore  is 
of  it.  and  in  the 

under  our  feet. 

be  a  great  deal 
1  above  tlie  drift, 
t  itself.     That  is 

stoping."  If  we 
loor  of  the  drift 
wder  would  have 
ock  out  into  the 
rhand  stoping." 
L  stoping." 
3ng,  and  we  car* 
lying  quantities. 

where  the  drift 
will  blast  down 
;iace  six  or  seven 
is  the  driit  itself. 

into  the  "  level" 
)ut  to  the  shaft, 
I  surface.  Thus 
;  a  new  drift,  you 
ir  making  the  old 


\ 


level  twice  as  high  as  it  was  at  first.  Mean- 
while the  drift  is  being  carried  along,  too, 
the  end  of  it.  or  '•  heading,"  being  so  far 
in  advance  of  the  .stope  that  it  is  not  inter- 
fered with  by  those  who  are  working  the 
latter. 

Let  us  suppose  that  the  men  on  the  stope 
have  now  gone  about  thirty  feet  from  the  shaft, 
so  that  it  is  time  to  set  two  more  at  work 
above  them.  But  we  must  first  prepare  for 
it.  Small  holes,  or  "'  hitches,"  are  cut  in  the 
walls  each  side  of  tiie  drift,  high  enough  for 
a  man  to  easily  walk  under  them.  These 
hitches  arc  as  nearly  opposite  one  another  as 
possible,  but  those  on  one  wall  are  higher  than 
those  on  the  other,  and  on  each  wall  they  are 
about  four  feet  apart.  Stout  logs,  about  a 
foot  in  diameter,  are  now  tightly  fitted  into 
these  hitches,  from  wall  to  wall,  across  the 
drift,  and  smaller  loga,  about  twelve  feet 
long,  are  laid  lengtlr,.ise  of  the  drift,  upon 
these  cro.ss-pieces ;  thus  making  a  roof  for 
the  gallery"  and  a  floor  for  the  stope.  The 
cross-piecjs  are  called  "  stulls,"  and  the  ones 
lying  upon  them- are  known  as  "lagging." 
Now  we  are  ready  to  work  two  more  men  on 
the  stope.  They  will  also  commence  at  the 
shaft,  and  blast  down  the  roof  of  the  stope 
for  about  six  feet  in  height,  following  those 
■who  have  just  preceded  them  ;  but  instead  of 
the  broken  rock  falling  into  the  drift  it  will 
fall  upon  the  stulls  and  lagging  recently  put 
up.  Here  it  will  be  looked  over,  and  the  ore 
thrown  into  the  drift  and  then  taken  to  the 
surface,  while  tlie  worthless  rock  will  be  left 
on  the  lagging.  Timbers  will  be  put  in  so 
that  no  rock  can  fall  from  the  stulls  into  the 
shaft.  Holes  are  left  in  the  lagging  where  the 
ore  can  be  thrown  down  to  the  drill. 

Now  that  part  of  the  vein  lying  between 
the  first  gallery  and  the  surface  can  be  sloped 
out,  the  rock  being  left  on  the  stulls,  which, 
when  properly  put  in,  will  support  an  enor- 
mous weight,  while  the  ore  is  raised  to  the 
surface.  Meanwhile  the  shaft  has  been  sunk 
on,  new  drifts  run,  and  stoping  carried  on 
throughout  the  mine  as  fast  as  possible. 
The  shaft  and  drifts  are  to  exphjre  the 
vein  and  to  open  stoping  grounds,  as  by 
stoping  much  more  rock  can  be  broken,  and 
more  ore  taken  out,  at  the  same  expense,  than 
from  the  shaft  or  galleries. 

I  forgot  to  state  that  at  about  every  ten  or 
twelve  ftetin  depth  —  sometimes  oftener,  de- 
pending an  the  nature  of  the  wall-rocks  — 
stulls  arc  put  across  each  end  of  the  shaft, 
and  timbers  resting  on  these  are  laid  along 
each  side  of  the  shaft.     By   means  of  plank 

12 


177 

and  timbers  stretching  from  one  set  of  these 
timbers  to  the  next  set  below,  the  shaft  is  di- 
vided into  compartments.  Thus  we  have  a 
ladder-way  to  go  up  and  down  upon,  a  com- 
partment for  the  pump,  if  one  is  needed  to 
drain  the  mine,  and  a  bucket-way  through 
which  the  ore  and  rock  are  hoisted. 

I  have  tried  to  show  you,  in  the  preceding 
pages,  how  a  mine  is  opened;  and,  to  complete 
the  lesson,  will  take  you,  as  well  as  I  can  on 
paper,  into  one  v.hich  we  will  suppose  has 
been  worked  for  years,  and  is  well  devel- 
oped. 


Giillery. 

Here  we  are  in  the  shaft-house  at  the  mouth 
of  the  shaft.  The  ore  is  lying  in  large  piles 
around  us,  and  the  men  and  boys  arc  busily 
engaged  in  hammer-dressing  it  (breaking  oft" 
the  rock  from  the  ore),  and  sorting  it  into 
difierent  classes,  according  to  its  richness. 
Others  are  weighing  it,  and  loading  the  wag- 
ons which  carry  it  to  the  mills,  where  the  sil- 
ver is  extracted.  Through  the  open  door 
yonder  you  can  see  the  glow  of  the  forges 
where  the  drills  are  being  slmrpened,  and 
worn-out  buckets  and  tools  repaired.  Step 
into  this  room  and  see  the  engine  working 
silently  and  steadily,  and  yet  so  powerfully. 
It  moves  the  pump  and  hoists  all  the  rock  and 
ore  from  the  mine,  so  easily  that  you  would 
never  imagine  it  was  doing  anything.  Hark! 
a  little  bell  has  just  struck,  and  see,  there 
goes  the  bucket  down  by  the  run ;  another 
stroke,  and  the  rope  ceases  to  run  out,  so  you 
know  the  bucket  has  stopped  somewhere  far 
below  us.  Tlie  little  bell  has  struck  twice 
this  time,  the  ro|.e  is  coming  up  noW;  and  here 
is  the  bucket  filled  with  glistening  ore.  No, 
that  is  not  silver  that  you  see  ;  it  is  merely  ga- 
lena, which  is  almost  as  bright  as  silver  when 
freshly  broken.  You  can  see  no  silver  in  it, 
and  yet  that  piece  you  have  in  your  haiul  con- 
tains it  at  the  rate  of  perhaps  a  thousand  dol- 
lars a  ton. 


! 


178 


SILVER    MINING, 


Mere  come  some  miners  dressed  in  their 
canvas  suits.  They  are  going  below;  so  they 
light  tlicir  candies,  fasten  them  in  their  hats, 
and  three  of  them  step  into  the  bucket  togeth- 
er, give  tlie  signal,  and  down  they  go.  It  is 
time  we  were  going  down,  too;  so  put  on  this 
pair  of  overalls,  this  old  jacket  and  hat,  and 
you  are  ready.  Come  over  to  the  ladder-way, 
light  your  candle,  and  then  follow  niu.  The 
ladders  are  nearly  perpendicular,  but  tliev  are 
perfectly  safe.  Hold  your  candle  between 
your  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  come  on. 


The  Slope. 

We  have  come  down  about  thirty  feet  only, 
and  will  now  step  oil  to  the  left  to  look  at 
this  stope.  "We  arc  standing  on  a  mass  of 
broken  rock,  which  rests  on  the  stulls  above 
the  first  drifts,  some  thirty  feet  still  below  us. 
You  can  hear  the  faint  stroke  a  hammer  far 
nhead,  where  men  are  at  work.  Come  on. 
Lookout  for  this  "mill  hole,"  where  the  ore 
is  thrown  down  to  the  drift.  Hold  your  can- 
dle up  and  see  the  vein  of  ore  over  our  heads. 
Where  you  stand  it  is  narrow;  but  see  here; 
•where  I  am  it  is  nearly  a  foot  wide.  It  looks 
dull  and  dirty,  from  the  powder  smoke.  You 
can  see  the  glimmer  of  candles  in  advance, 
and  here  the  men  are  drilling.  Well,  let  us 
hurry  down  ;  but  .  ■  can  keep  on  our  way  until 
we  come  to  another  sli:  ft,  •.  irch  was  sunk  to 
cause  a  circulation  ot  <  i:  '•'-  the  tune,  and 
hence  called  the  "  air-s'i.ift."  It  is  smaller 
than  the  other,  but  hr.s  a  <'oo  '  ■  »t  of  ladders 
in  it,  so  that  in  .:o<<.  i>("  uc  idc'it  the  miners 
can  have  two  ways  of  ..siupe.     lJ<rewi.    iwe, 


down  to  the  first  "  level  "  (same  as  drift),  which 
is  several  hundred  feet  in  length.  Come  to 
the  end  of  it  and  see  the  ore.  Here  are  two 
more  miners;  but  they  have  just  "shot,"  — 
you  can  smell  the  powder-smoke,  —  and  are 
loading  the  car,  which  runs  on  this  wooden 
track  berieath  our  feet.  There  they  go  with 
it  out  to  the  shaft.  Yes,  the  vein  is  looking 
well  here. 

Now  we  will  cross  over  the  shaft  into  the 
drift  on  the  other  side.  Here  we  find  r.  car 
and  track,  too;  in  fact,  we  shall  find  them  in 
every  drift  of  any  length,  as  they  are  very 
much  better  than  wheelbarrows.  See  these 
stulls  over  your  head;  they  are  supporting 
forty  feet  of  lo-  se  rock.  If  one  should  give 
w.ay.  it  would  be  bad  for  us.  Tl.e  vein  does 
not  look  so  well  in  this  heading;  in  fact,  there 
is  no  ore  at  all.  It  has  been  pinched  here  for 
some  time;  but  it  will  open  out  again  in  a  few 
feet,  probably.  We  will  go  down  this  "winze  " 
to  the  next  level.  What  is  a  winze.?  you  ask. 
Merely  a  small  shaft  connecting  one  level 
W'ith  another. 

Here  is  the  ladder,  and  here  we  go  down, 
much  of  the  way  through  ground  which  has 
been  sloped.  The  rock  resting  on  the  stulls 
below  is  carefully  secured  by  timbers,  so  that 
it  cannot  fall  into  the  winze.  This  Ir—  is 
ycvy  much  like  the  one  we  have  just  left,  only 
not  quite  as  long. 

Hark!  there  was  a  cry  of  "  fire .' "  -Don't 
be  alarmed.  It  only  means  they  are  about  to 
fite  a  shot.  Step  this  way.  Now  shield  your 
candle  well  with  your  hand,  and  stand  still. 
There  it  went;  and  yourcandl.j  -s  out.  What 
a   dull,  heavy   report!  an-'  it  shook  the 

air! 

We  have  now  been  Jirouf^h  .  :'f  a  dozen 
drifts,  climbed  down  as  ...iuy  winzes,  crawled 
on  our  hands  and  knees  through  abandoned 
slopes  ;  have  clambered  up  and  down  ropes  in 
lieu  of  ladders  ;  have  seen  the  ore-vein  wide 
and  narrow,  rich  and  poor,  and  in  many  places 
have  seen  no  ore  at  all,  where  by  good  rights 
ore  should  have  been.  Your  clothes  are  wet, 
muddy,  and  covered  with  candle-droppings. 
Your  face  and  hands  are  not  much  cleaner. 
In  fact,  you  are  a  sorry-looking  object,  and  are 
pretty  well  tired,  too.  But  we  have  only  to 
go  to  the  bottom  of  the  shaft,  now,  to  retire 
with  honor. 

The  shaft  is  about  a  hundred  feet  deeper 
than  the  drift  in  which  we  stand.  Listen,  and 
you  can  hear  the  faint  click  of  the  hammer 
down  thrre,  and  by  leaning  over  here  you  can 
see  the  ;andlcs,  looking  like  so  many  glow- 
worms. 


SILVER    MINING. 


179 


ift),  which 

Conic  to 

'   arc  two 

>li()t."  — 

—  and  are 

lis  wooden 

SO  with 

looking 


Working  a  Mine. 


This  is  as  far  as  the  ladders  go,  and  for  the 
next  twenty  feet  we  must  c'.imb  down  this  rope. 
Before  going  down,  however,  let  us  take  a  good 
look  at  tlic  miners.  They  are  dressed  in  oil- 
cloth suits,  and  well  they  may  be,  for  the  water 
is  pouring  down  the  sides  of  the  shaft  at  the 
rate  of  three  or  four  barrels  an  hour,  and 
reaches  them  in  the  form  of  fine  spray,  with 
here  and  there  a  tiny  stream,  which  runs  off 
some  projecting  point  of  rock.  The  water  is 
raised  by  the  bucket  to  this  tank,  where  we 
are  standing,  and  from  where  the  pump  takes 
it.  The  miners  seem  contented  enough, 
though,  and  the  one  sitting  down  turning  the 
drill  is  singing  as  merrily  as  though  this  wet, 
muddy  shaft  was  the  pleasantest  place  in  the 
world.  This  is  their  life  ;  ll>ey  are  used  to  it, 
and  know  nothing  else;  for  ever  since  they 
were  old  enough  to  do  anything,  thcv  have 
worked  around  a  mine,  first  at  surtingore,  and 


gradually  working  their  way  from  that  te 
drillsmen.     Let  us  speak  to  them. 

"  Well,  Harry,  how  is  the  rock  to-day.'" 

"  It's  bloody  'ard,  sir.  We  uns  can't  n  e 
'alf  a  foot  a  shift,  sir,"  is  the  reply  we  gc 

Cornish,  unmistakably.  Well,  down  >  .0. 
Mold  fast  to  your  candle,  and  the  rope,  too. 
You  will  find  the  latter  wet  and  slippe  v  but 
you  are  down  safely.  Here  is  the  <  i-.-vein 
running  lengthwise  of  the  shaft,  you  >ee,  and 
looking  well,  too.  Hold  your  cani'  close  to 
that  little  hole,  there  in  the  crevice  >oe,  it  is 
lined  with  quartz  crystals,  which  glisten  like 
diamonds  in  the  light.  The  miners  call  such 
ca\  ities  "  vuggs,"  and  they  are  often  quite 
large  and  verv  pretty.  Sometimes  native  sil- 
ver occurs  among  the  crystals,  in  the  shape 
of  fine  wire. 

Our  clothes  arc  not  water-proof,  however, 
and  we  are  getting  quite  wet.     "  So    Marry, 


I; 


,-/'•'  -^. 


iSo 


SILVER    MINING. 


you  can  ring  for  the  bucket."  IIow  dt'ep  lire 
•we.'  About  .six  huniirotl  feet.  The  shaft  is 
not  quite  straight  enough  for  us  to  see  day- 
light from  where  we  stand.  Do  thev  work 
in  the  mines  at  night.'  Ye.s,  night  and  day. 
As  soon  as  tiie  day  hands  have  workeii  out 
their  time,  anoilier  set  of  miners  take  their 
phice. 

Do  accidents  ever  happen  —  did  you  ask  ? 
Occasionally.  Tiie  men  sometimes  get  blown 
lip  by  a  blast;  .sometimes  they  are  thrown  from 
the  bucket  while  going  u|i  and  down  the  shaft; 
and  sometimes  a  rock  falls  upon  them  from 
above.  But  in  a  well-regulated  mine  such  ac- 
cidents seldom  occur.  There  is  much  more 
danger  in  a  coal  mine  than  in  one  of  the  kind 
we  are  in. 

Hut  here  is  the  bucket.  Some  mines  have 
"  cages  "  instead  of  the  ordinary  bucket,  which 
work  on  a  principle  quite  similar  to  the  '•  ele- 


vators "  you  have  seen  in  l.irge  hotefs.  But 
we  shall  have  to  content  our-elves  witli  a  com- 
mon bucket;  so  step  in  with  both  feet.  I  will 
keep  one  foot  out  to  steer  with.  Hold  your 
l;ead  close  to  the  rope.  —  Marry,  give  the  bell 
four  strokes,  so  the  engineer  may  know  lie 
has  live  freight  on  board  insteati  of  rock. — 
Here  we  go.  —  Marry,  steady  the  buckjt  until 
it  reaches  tlie  planks.  —  Now  we  are  all  right. 
It  seems  a  little  strange  at  first,  but  you  will 
soon  get  used  to  it.  There,  you  can  fee  the 
light  far  abovC  us.  and  gradually  it  grows 
lighter  around  us.  Sec  tliose  lieads  peering 
out  of  the  drift,  looking  like  so  many  gnomes, 
those  favorites  with  the  German  story-tellers, 
you  remember. 

Drifts,  stopes,  stulls,  and  gnomes  are  far 
below  us,  and  here  we  are  in  daylight  once 
more,  a  little  tired,  and  decidedly  muddy,  but, 
I  trust,  repaid  for  our  trouble. 


; 


LS-~'  r-j: ---z 


Ihotels.     But 
with  acom- 

I  iV-'tU.     I  will 
HoKI  your 

kfive  tlie  boll 
iiy  know  he 
Ji  of  rock.  — 
|l>iKkv-t  until 

"c  all  ii;,'hf. 

[but  von  will 
lan  Sic  the 
I'v  it  Ljrows 
pads  peering 
iny  ijnoines, 
Itory-tcllers, 

nics  are  far 
iylii,'ht  once 
middy,  but, 


A    LONDON    FIREMAN'S    "NIGHT    OF    IT. 


iSl 


The  Fire  Escape. 


A  LONDON  FIEEMAN'S  "NIGHT  OF  IT." 

BY   R.    M.    bALLANTYNE. 

nnOM   BRANDERS    iiad    broad  shoulders 
■'-     and  tough  sinews,  blue  eyes  and  a  bright, 
bold  face. 

The  most  dignified  of  men  may  sometimes 
become  ridiculous.  No  one  who  had  seen 
Tom  Branders,  for  the  first  time,  on  the  night 
of  tlie  joth  December,  i8 — ,  :ouKl  have  believed 
it  possible  that  he  was  regarded  by  his  com- 
rades as  one  of  the  most  sedate,  grave,  manly, 
earnest  fellows  in  the  Brigade;  for.  on  the 
night  in  question,  he  sat  in  his  sentry-box,  the 
absolute  impersonation  of  idiotic  imbecility. 

The  fact  is,  tliatToin  had  been  overcome  by 
sleep.  Prolonged  watching  had  at  length  in- 
duced a  condition  of  mind  which  seemed  to  ren- 
der "  appearances  "  a  matter  of  su]->reiiic  indif- 
ference. His  cap  had  tumbled  with  a  reckless 
air  over  one  eye  ;  his  curly  forelock  had  strag- 
gled over  the  bridge  of  his  nose:  his  broad 
shoulders  stooped  to  an  extent  that  suggested 
the  snapping  of  the  spine;  his  well-shaped  head 
swayed  about  as  if  in  wavering  uncertainty  .  s 
to  whether  it  would  bump  the  hack,  or  sides,  or 
front  of  the  sentry-box,  and  his  firm  lips  broke 
occasionally  into  a  remonstrativc  smile  when 


anunusuallyviolentbump  half  awokehim.  and 
sent  an  echo,  as  if  from  a  giant  drum,  through 
the  silent  street. 

Although  occupying  a  sentry-box,  Tom 
Branders  was  not  a  defender  of  his  coimtry; 
although  a  brass  helmet  hung  from  a  peg  just 
over  his  head,  he  was  not  a  metnber  of  the 
horse-guards ;  although  clad  in  a  blue  uniform, 
with  a  broad  belt  and  a  big,  piratical  buckle, 
he  was  not  one  of  the  marines,  albeit  the 
round,  sailor's  cap  on  his  head  did  smack 
somewhat  of  the  sea.  Nevertheless,  Tom  was 
truly  a  warrior  —  in  an  enemy'.s  country,  too, 
surrounded  by  the  I'oa  night  and  da}-,  and 
liable  at  any  and  every  moment  to  be  ordered 
into  action.  He  was  a  member  of  the  London 
Fire  Brigr.de,  and,  at  the  time  we  write  of,  was 
doing  dnty  as  guardian  of  a  fire  escape. 

It  is  only  of  late  years  that  the  London  fire- 
men have  had  cliarge  of  the  fire-escapes.  In 
former  times  these  were  ably  managetl  by  a 
society  supported  by  voluntary  contributions. 
Now  they  are  under  government,  and  the  reg- 
ular firemen  take  their  turn  of  duty  at  them 
night  about. 

The  great  city  was  in  its  deepest  condition 
of  repose,  for  it  was  a  little  alter  three  A.  M., 
at  which  hour  late  revellers  had  staggered  to 
their  respective  homes,  and   early  risers  were 


I, 


! 


•■1 


•1^ 


I 


lt>3 


A    LONDON     FIREMAN'S    NIGHT    OF    IT. 


not  vet  Rtirring.  The  profound  silence  of 
busy  Paiidington  was  broken  only  by  tlie  oc- 
casional heel  of  a  pol  iceman  and  the  inter- 
mittent drumming  of  Tom  Branders's  head 
before  referred  to.  Presently  there  was  adiled 
to  these  sounds  the  iiiiiek  jKitteriiig  of  yoiith- 
lul  I'ootsteps,  and  ere  long  a  very  small  and 
ragged  urchin  came  trolling  along,  with  his 
hands  deep  in  his  trousers  pockets,  and  with 
that  jovially  reckless  air  that  characterizes 
most  of  the  London  street-boys.  He  appeared 
to  be  in  a  hurry  :  nevertheless,  endued  with 
that  wondei  I'ul  capacity  which  is  usually  sup- 
posed to  belong  exclusively  to  great  minds, 
he  fomui  time,  in  th°  midst  of  his  more  jiress- 
ing  engagements,  to  vole  much  of  his  at- 
tention lo  ever_v  small  nialter  or  trivial  incident 
that  cropped  up  in  his  path.  In  virtue  of  this 
capacity  he  saluleil  the  policeman  by  the  fa- 
miliar name  of  "  liobby,"  asked  several  of 
them  how  they  fareil  in  regard  to  soap,  gave 
them  a  good  deal  of  gratuitous  advice,  antl 
took  a  lively  farewell  by  applying  his  thumb 
lo  liik  nose  and  wri,'gling  hi.s  lingers  —  alw.iys, 
however,  sheering  olV  into  the  niidd'e  of  the 
roa''  '"'oin  prudential  motives.  Having  rec- 
oil..in-i, Jed  a  neighboring  weathercock  to  crow, 
if  that  would  atlbrd  any  relief  to  its  elevated 
spirit,  and  having  whistled  in  at  a  keyhole,  in 
the  earnest  hope  that  the  act  might  suggest 
dreams  of  burglary  to  those  within,  our  play- 
ful urchin  c;.me  suddenly  roimd  the  corner 
of  the  church  under  the  shutlow  of  which  stood 
the  fire-escape  of  that  district. 

Standing  beside  the  huge  wheel  .  md  look- 
ing up  at  the  tall  hnklers  with  a  l  tical  air, 
be  was  about  tf)  apostrophize  the  machine, 
when  a  drum-like  noise  proceeded  from  the 
neighboring  sentry-box.  An  expression  of 
beaming  glee  overspread  the  urchin's  features 
instantly.  He  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  front  of 
the  sentry-box,  opened  the  door  gently,  and 
stood  there  gazing  with  intense  delight  at 
Tom  Branders's  waving  head  and  idiotic  smiles. 

An  occasional  squeaking  sound,  which  pro- 
ceeded from  the  boy's  nose,  gave  indication  of 
internal  convulsions,  ami  a  mischievous  twinkle 
in  his  eye  showed  that  he  meant  to  "  improve 
the  occasion  ;  "  but  the  rush  of  cold  air  through 
the  open  door  awoke  the  fireman  wiHi  a  start. 
Becoming  instantly  conscious  of  the  grinning 
boy,  he  sprang  upon  him  with  a  growl;  but 
the  small  creature  eluded  his  grasp,  and  fled 
away  with  a  yell  of  laughter,  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  was  plainly  heard  to  ask  the  dis- 
turbed fireman  if  his  mother  was  aware  of  his 
absence  from  home. 

Tom    Branders    listened    to   his   retreating 


footsteps  with  a  good-humored  smile  on  his 
face.  —  for  he  had  a  sort  of  undercurrent  of 
afTection  I'or  the  entire  class  of  street-bovs,  — 
and  then  turned,  sailor-like,  to  observe  the 
weather  as  indicated  by  the  sky.  \Ve  sav  sail- 
or-like advisedly,  because  Tom  had  been  a 
man-of-war's-man.  All  the  men  of  the  Lon- 
don Fire  Brigade  are  picked  young  men  from 
the  navy,  the  training  unilergfme  in  that  force 
being  found  pre-eminently  suitable  for  the  pro- 
duction of  good  firemen. 

Having  surveyeil  the  horizon  as  far  as  the 
chimney-pots  woidd  allow  him,  Tom  consulted 
his  watch,  examined  his  escape,  looked  up  and 
down  the  street,  and  then,  gazing  at  the  moon, 
slowh   shook  liis  head. 


In  the  Scntry-liox. 

There  was  an  air  of  anxiety  and  s.idness 
about  the  man's  expression  which  appeared 
somewhat  inconsistent  with  his  strength  and 
high  health  and  somewhat  wild  calling.  After 
gazing  thoughtfully  upwards  for  a  few  minutes, 
he  began  to  walk  briskly  up  and  down,  the 
night  air  being  keen  and  frosty. 

He  had  not  walked  long  when  a  woman 
came  quickly  round  the  comer  of  the  church. 

"Mollvl"  exclaimed  the  fireman,  turning 
suddenly  round  with  a  look  of  surprise,  "von 
here?" 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  Tom.  Our  darling  is 
worse,  much  worse.     I  think  she  is  sinking." 

She  laid  her  head  on  her  husband's  breast 
and  sobbed. 


A    LONDON    riUEMAN'S    'NIGHT    OF    IT.' 


JS3 


ile  on   hii 
^iiriciit  of 

t-l)OVS,  — 

Jservc  the 
c  sav  sail- 
d  been  a 
tlie  Lr)n- 
nien  from 
Hint  force 
11-  the  pro- 


"Come,  Mollv.  don't  fx'ne  way  like  that," 
said  tlie  lireinan,  in  soothiiijj  tones,  strok- 
ing tlie  wcnnan's  hair  with  his  hantl. 

"  O,  it  is  so  hard  I  "  she  exchiiined,  with  a 
touch  of  bitterness,  ••  to  have  our  first,  our 
only  one,  our  darling  Alice,  taken  away  so 
soon." 

"Molly,  Molly,"  said  the  man,  tenderly. 
"  the  Lord  gave,  an'  if  it  be  his  will  to —  " 

He  could  not  finish  the  sentence.  With  a 
strong  elVort  he  crushed  down  his  feelings. 

"  Mas  the  doctor  been  to  see  her.'  "  he  asked, 
after  a  pause. 


The  Rescue. 

"Yes.  He  said  that  if  she  could  only  full 
asleep,  she  might  get  the  turn ;  but  she  has 
beenrestlcsseversincehe  gave  herthe  draught, 
and  I  came  out  to  tell  you.  Surely,  Toin,  it 
will  be  no  sin  to  lejive  your  post  just  for  f  va 
or  ten  minutes,  to  scc  her  before  she  \l=es  I" 

"Impossible,  Mary,  impossible,"  said  the 
man,  almost  sternly. 

"  Can  a  short  ten  tninutes  be  of  such  im- 
portance.'" said  Mary.  "Many  and  many  a 
night  you  have  stood  here  without  having  a 
call.  Is  it  likely  there  will  be  a  call  to-niglit, 
within  that  short  space  of  time?" 

"  There  may  be  ;  but,  whether  or  not,  Moily, 
tny  duty  is  //ere.     Life  and  death   sometimes 


hinge  on  tny  being  prompt.  If  by  going  home 
I  could  save  the  life  of  our  darling,  I  might  be 
tempted;  but  —  " 

••Well,  I  can't  wait  to  talk,"  sobbed  Mary, 
drawing  her  shawl  round  her  with  a  shudder. 
••  Our  neighbor,  Mrs.  Davids,  has  kindly  taken 
care  of  her  while  1  came  out  to  see  you.  1  — 
Hu-h!     What  is  that.'" 

Shouts  and  a  sound  as  if  of  hurrying  feet 
were  heard. 

The  fireman  made  no  answer,  excejit  by  giv- 
ing Molly  one  fervent  embrace.  Next  moment 
he  had  struck  a  light  and  kindled  the  two  lamps 
of  his  escape.  The  hurrying  footsteps  tlrew 
near,  and  the  shouts  sounded  like  the  word 
••Fire!" 

Tom  Branders  had  tlung  his  cap  into  the 
sentry-box,  ami  donned  his  brass  helmet  before 
the  first  of  the  runners  came  round  the  corner 
of  the  church  in  the  shape  of  a  small  boy — 
the  same  small  boy  who  had  passed  the  place 
not  manv  minutes  before.  His  eyes  were  al' 
most  starting  out  of  his  head  with  real  excite- 
ment and  anxiety,  as  he  yelled,  "Fire,  fire  I  " 
\ociferously. 

"Just  so.  my  tulip,"  said  Tom,  calmly,  as 
he  thiiist  a  small  hatchet  iiitf)  his  belt. 

Tom's  actions  were  marked  by  a  wonderful 
degree  of  celerity,  while  his  countenance  wore 
an  expression  of  unruffled  serenity.  I'ke  an 
expert  pugilist,  who  hits  out  like  lightning, 
while  he  smile-  like  an  eas'y-gf)ing  Cupid. 

'•  Look  sliarp.  fireman  !  "  cried  a  policeman, 
as  he  dashed  round  the  corner  at  full  speed. 

'•  All  right,  Robert,"  exclaimed  Tom.  seizing 
the  levers  of  his  escape.  "  Now,  then,  lend  a 
hand  —  will  you  ?  " 

This  was  addressed  to  four  men,  who  came 
up  at  the  same  moment.  These,  with  the 
policeman,  willingly  lent  their  aid.  and.  in 
much  less  time  than  the  account  of  it  has  taken 
to  write,  tin  lirv-e-^cape  was  going  at  full  speed 
to  the  scene  of  one  of  those  conflagrations  of 
which  there  is  an  average  of  five  a  night 
tb.roughout  the  year  in  London. 

Fire-escapes  are  studded  so  thickly  through- 
out London  that  there  is  always  sure  to  be 
one  in  readiness  within  a  few  minutes'  call  of 
any  spot  where  a  tire  may  occur.  Our  hero, 
therefore,  soon  reached  the  place  where  his 
services  were  in  demand. 

Frequently  an  escape  rcichef,  a  fire  a  few 
minutes  sooner  than  do  llie  fire-engin'is,  ow- 
ing to  its  nearer  proximity;  and  the  i.ian  in 
charge  is  provided  with  a  hand-pump,  so  that, 
in  the  event  of  there  being  no  one  to  be  res- 
cued from  the  windows,  he  may  begin  to  check 
the  fire  at  once.  At  the  commencement  of  a 
fire  a  small  stream  of  water  may  be  sufficient 


:  if! 


184 


A    LONDON     1-IKE.MAN'S     NIGHT     OF     IT. 


to  quell  it,  althoufjh  five  or  ten  minutes  later 
a  mountain  torrent  would  have  little  or  no 
effect  on  it.  Hence  fire-escape  men  are  often 
the  means  of  stemming,'  the  tiilo  of  what,  hut 
for  their  enerf,'v.  would  have  heconie  a  j^reat 
contlayration.  IJut  it  was  not  so  on  tlie  pres- 
ent occasion.  The  fire  had  hroketi  out  from 
the  first  with  irresistihle  fur\ .  in  a  drv-saiter's 
store,  so  that,  when  the  escape  was  run  up, 
sheets  of  tlanie  and  vohiines  of  smoke  were 
already  iiouring  out  of  the  lower  windows. 

■■No  u -e  for  the  hand-pump  here,"  muttered 
ToniRranders.aKhepushedvii^oroush  through 
the  crowd,  which  was  fast  collectini,'" 

That  there  was  use  for  the  escape,  however, 
was  evident  from  the  slirieks  that  were  heard 
issuini,'  from  the  numerous  windows  directly 
ahove  the  hurning  store. 

It  was  a  somewhat  jioor  neigldwrhood,  and 
the  rooms  ahove  the  store  were  denselv  in- 
hahited  In-  pcojilc  in  indigent  circumstances. 
Most  of  these  had  escaped  down  a  back  stair, 
and  were  now  in  front  of  the  house  uttering 
frantic  cries  for  '•  help."  and  '•  ladders  ;  "  stat- 
ing, in  wild,  incoherent  sentences,  tliatcliildren 
or  i)arents  were  still  in  various  parts  of  the 
threatened  building.  Some  of  them,  after 
escaping,  had  run  back  to  attempt  the  rescue 
of  relatives;  but  in  an  incredibly  short  time 
the  back  and  front  stairs  ivere  both  rendered 
impassable  by  the  fire. 

Tom  JJranders  at  once  unshipped  his  short 
ladders,  and  planted  them  at  two  of  the  lower 
windows,  where  a  man  and  two  women  were 
seen  in  the  midst  of  sutlocaling  smoke,  wildlv 
flinging  about  their  arms,  and  shouting  for 
help.  These  he  left  to  the  care  of  the  police- 
!nan  and  one  or  two  of  the  more  daring  in- 
habitants of  the  neighborhood,  who  soon  res- 
cued them.  Meanwhile  he  ran  the  escape 
towards  an  upper  window  of  the  tenement. 
Avhere  a  woman  was  seen  with  a  child  in  her 
arms. 

The  he.ad  of  the  escape  just  reached  the 
■window.  With  the  activity  of  a  cat,  Tom  ran 
up  the  ladder  and  seized  the  woman,  who  was 
making  frantic  but  not  very  successful  eflforts 
to  scramble  out  of  the  window  with  the  child 
in  her  arms.  At  the  same  moment  there  was 
a  loud  shout  from  the  crowd,  and  a  stentorian 
voice  directed  the  fireman  to  the  windows  of 
the  floor  above.  Just  then  a  suflbcating  cloud 
of  smoke  well  nigh  choked  our  hero,  and  im- 
mediately after  a  sheet  of  llamc  shot  up  through 
the  floor  and  wrapped  round  his  legs,  while  the 
din  around  him  was  rendered  more  bewil- 
dering by  the  furious  rattle  and  roar  caused 
by  the  advent  of  two  fire-engines,  which  gal- 
loped up  to  the  scene  of  action. 


I      There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.     The  wo- 
I  man  was  too  excited    to  act.     Tom,  tlierefore, 
seized  lier  and  the  child    in    his  strong  arms, 
plunged    headforemost   into   the    lonj,'  canvas 
bag,   or   shoot,   which   hung   underneath    the 
ladder,  atulsliil  in  safety  to  llie  ground,  press- 
ing his  outspread  knees  against   the   sides  of 
the  shoot,  to  regulate  the  speed  of  his  descent. 
Jumping  up,  and  leaving  the  woman  and  child 
to  be  cared  for  by  others,  he   seized   the  f'dc- 
,  ropesof  the  levers,  by  means  of  which  the  fly  ing- 
I  ladder  was  raised  so  as  to  reach  uppor  floors. 
•■  I...1UI    a    hand     here,     lads!"    he    cried, 
harply. 


'ITie  London  Boy. 

Men  of  his  own  brigade  were  now  ready  to 
answer  the  call,  each  a  thorough  adept  in  the 
management  of  fire-escapes.  Leaving  to  them 
the  work  of  haiding  on  the  levers,  he  spran" 
up  and  gained  the  fly-ladder  almost  before  it 
was  pitched.  It  touched  the  wiiulow-sill  where 
the  man  was  screaming:  but  the  smoke,  burst- 
ing out  in  a  dense  cloud  just  then,  prevented 
him  from  seeing  what  was  being  done.  Chok- 
ing, and  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  he  leaped  from 
the  window.  Tom  was  within  six  feet  of  him 
at  the  moment,  and  saw  him  leap.  Clutching 
the  ladder  with  one  ha-ul,  he  leaned  back  and 
recei\etl  the  tailing  man  on  his  broad  chest. 
The  stout  machine  quivered  imder  the  shock, 
and  strain,  but  did  not  give  way.  Seeing  that 
the  man  was  able  at  least  to  hold  on,  Tom 
whispered  a  word  of  encouragement,  scratn- 


I 


A    LONDON    FIREMAN'S     "NIGHT    OF    IT 


»85 


The  wo- 

I  If  re  fore, 
"LT  arms, 
,'  canvas 
Mtli    the 
il.  |)ress- 
sidci  of 
(li-i-otif. 
and  chilli 
tile   sale- 
he  ll\  ing- 

lof)rs. 
u'    c-rieil, 


bl  'J  past  liim,  iind  lenpcii  through  the  window  of  the  nttic,  nut  could  not  find  it.  All  round 
Into  the  room.  Here  all  was  dnrkneiss,  owing  him  was  black  aH  midnight,  and  he  felt  that 
to  smoke  ;  but  Tom  was  accustomed  to  smoke,  a  few  moments  more  of  such  smoke  must  over- 
nnd  knew  exnelly  iiow  far  he  was  abli  :()  stand  power  him.  The  tiiought  of  his  own  sick, 
partial  --nlVoeation.  dvintj  child  came  vividly  to  his  mind;  anil  the 

Tlieie  is  a  saying  that  '  knowledge  is  pow-  knowledge  that  one  who  bore  the  same  name 
er."  The  saying  was  verified  by  Tom  Urantiers  mus  perish  in  a  few  minutes  if  he  did  not 
on  this  oeeasion.  llis  Ihorough  knowlcilge.  su<c.  ed  in  rescuing  her,  drove  him  frantic.  He 
foundeil  on  training  and  experience,  gave  him  ilrew  his  hatchet,  anil  was  about  to  make  an 
the  power  to  keep  cool  and  act,  where  braver  insane  attempt  to  cut  through  the  wall,  when 
men  —  il'  such  could  be  —  might,  in  their  ig-  ^  he  observed  a  small  skylight  in  the  low  roof, 
nornnce,  have  (piailed.     He  sprang  across  the  j  against  which  the  comb  ol  bis  helmet  had  al- 


apartnicnt,  and  tumbled  over  an  elderly  man. 
who  had  just  fallen  down  in  bis  blind  haste 
to  reach  the  window. 


ready  struck  once  or  twice. 

To  dash  this  into  atoms  was  the  work  of  a 
few  sicoiuls.  Reiinlar  drill-practice  in  the 
gymnasiinn  of  the  biigade  had  rendered  it  an 
easy  matter  for  him  to  haul  himself  up  through 
the  bole  and  get  out  on  the  roof  Here  the 
fresh  air  revived  him,  and  here  he  found  a 
window  leailing  int,)  the  attic.  One  thrust 
with  his  foot  daslicd  in  the  whole  frame,  and 
he  leaped  through,  followed  by  a  wild  cheer 
from  the  crowd  below,  who  had  caught  sight 
of  him  in  his  giildy  position  on  the  edge  of  the 
n.of,  surroimdetl  by  smoke  and  hiiid  firelight. 
But  it  was  not  a  giddy  position  to  Tom.  Many 
a  time,  during  wild  storms,  had  he  laid  out  to 
reef  the  topsails  of  a  man-of-war;  and  often 
had  he  stood  on  the  main  truck,  in  calm  weath- 
er, "  for  fun."  Thus  was  he  trained  to  attempt 
deeds  of  daring  on  better  grounds  than  ''  fun." 

Tom  was  rejoiced  to  find  the  atli>-  compara- 
tively free  from  smoke,  though  tiny  wreaths 
rising  from  seams  in  the  floor  showed  that  it 
would  not  long  remain  a  place  of  safety.  In 
a  low  truckle-bed  lay  a  little  girl,  ruddy  with 
the  hue  of  health,  and  sound  asleep,  despite 
the  noise  aroinid  her.  The  crash  caused  by 
his  leaping  on  the  floor,  however,  awoke  her 
with  a  start,  and  .she  uttered  a  wild  scream  of 
terror  as  the  fireman's  huge,  dark  form  mst 
her  gaze.  The  scream  wa.^  redoubled  when 
Tom  seized  her  in  his  strong  arms  and  lifted 
her,  blanket  and  all,  out  of  bed.  There  was 
no  time  for  ceremony  or  delay. 

"Alice,  dear,"  said  the  fireman,  in  atone  as 
soothing  as  was  compatible  with  his  violent 
and  swift  action,  "don't  fear;  you're  all  safe. 
Father's  below." 

But  Alice  was  deaf  to  all  blandishment.    She 


Alice  is  .liive. 

Tom  raised  him  quickly,  bore  him  to  the 
ladder,  and  was  carrying  him  down  on  his 
shoulder,  when  he  began  to  struggle,  and 
gasped,  — 

"  Save,  O,  save  my  child  —  my  Alice !  " 

"  Can  you  hold  on?"  cried  Tom,  setting  his 
burden  against  the  ladder. 

"Yes,  O,  yes;  don't  mind  me.  Alice,  Alice!  |  continued  to  yell  and  kick  in  abject  terror, 
Qiiick  !  The  attic  .above  the  room  where  you  ,  wl.ile  her  deliverer  bore  her  out  on  the  roof, 
found  me  !  "  walked  slowly  along  the  narrow  ledge,  where 

The  fireman  needed  no  second  bidding.  I  the  loosening  of  a  single  brick,  or  the  loss  of 
Leaping  once  more  up  the  ladder,  and  know-  '  balance  by  a  hair's  breadth,  would  have  pitched 
ing  well  that  his  comrades  would  look  after  them  headlong  on  the  stones  below.  Still 
the  man  who  clung  to  it,  he  dashed  across  the  screaming  and  kicking,  she  was  borne  down 
room,  found  a  door,  burst  it  open,  leaped  up  a  the  skylight;  but,  while  traversing  the  pas- 
narrow  wooden  staircase,  and  felt  for  the  door  '  sage  and  the  attic  stair,  and  the  lower  rooiu 


iS6 


A    LONDON     FIREMAN'S    NI 


M 


OF    IT. 


♦.0  the  window,  «he  was  sik-nt,  being  nearly 
choked.  A  few  seconds  later  and  tin  .  were 
upon  the  fljr-Iadilor,  and  the  blanket  was 
drawn  tight  over  the  child's  head,  for,  di'ring 
the  desct  lit,  tonjjii.s  of  fire  hs  well  as  clouds 
of  smoke  swept  mound  tlicm.  G:'iiiing  the 
top  of  the  lower  ladder,  Tom  plun;,'ed  heiul- 
foremost  into  the  cnnvas  shoot,  and,  ^^uiiiinu; 
himself,  as  before,  by  his  knees,  reached  tlio 
ground  in  safety  amidst  enthus^a'  tic  cheers. 

In  thr  niid>t  of  the  congratulations  that 
were  showered  on  him,  and  the  natural  feelings 
of  thankfulness  and  exultation  that  swellid 
his  breast,  Tom  heard  words  that  stemmed 
the  tide  of  gladness,  and  sent  a  chill  to  his 
heart. 

"Cheer  up.  man;  rouse  yourself;  the  child 
is  safe.     Your  Alice  is  alive  and  well !  " 

The  father,  overcome  by  exhaustion  and 
terror,  had  swooned;  but  these  words  charmed 
his  spirit  bac  k. 

"  Alive  anci  well !  "  he  cried,  raising  hi.    -elf 
and   looking  lound  wildly;   then,  as  the  little 
yft  one  rushed  into  his  arms,  "Thank   the  Lord, 

Alice  is  alive  !  " 

"  God  help  me  !  "  thought  poor  Tom  Ri  an- 
ders;  "  my  Alice  is  ill,  perhaps  dead  !  " 

"Not  much  hurt,  Tom,  I  hope,"  said  the 
foreman  of  the  brigade  in  that  district,  coming 
forward  and  glancing  earnestly  at  our  hero's 
singed  head,  blackened  visage,  and  bloody 
hands.  "  Here,  one  of  you,  fetch  a  glass  of 
spirits!" 

"  I'm  all  right,  sir.  No,  no  spirits,  thankee. 
I  don't  need  'em.  I'm  only  scratched  a  bit 
with  the  broken  glass." 

"Well,  get  home  as  fast  as  you  can.  You've 
done  enough  to-night,  Tom.  We'll  manage 
the  rest  without  you.  There  are  no  more  to 
be  saved  now;  or,  if  there  are,  it's  too  late. 
And  we're  getting  it  under." 

As  he  spoke,  the  truth  of  what  he  said  was 
confirmed  by  the  flames  bursting  up»-ards 
with  a  terrific  glare,  and  thereof  of  the  build- 
ing falling  in  with  a  crash  that  sent  myriads 
of  sparks  into  the  wintry  sky. 

Tom,  therefore,  glad  to  be  relieved,  started 
off  at  a  brisk  pace  for  his  home,  which  was 
not  more  than  twenty  minutes'  walk  from  the 
spot. 

At  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  he  observed 
that  a  small,  mgged  boy  ran  by  his  side,  about 
a  pace  behind  him,  and  appeared  desirous  of 
attracting  his  attention. 

"  What  d'ye  want,  lad  ?  "  he  demanded,  son.e- 
what  sternly,  as  he  stopped. 

"Please,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  somewhat 
hesitating  tone,  "  I'm  scrry  I  did  it." 
"  Sorry  yoii  did  what.'"  asked  Tom. 


"  That  I  —  that  '     .id  //laf  w>n  you  was  in 

tin-  sentry-box," 

"  Said  what?     I  don't  understand  you." 
"  Axed  you  if—  if  your  mother  kncwedyou 
was  hout." 

Torn  l.Tst  into  a  hearty  fit  of  laughter;  for, 
ic^thoiigh  he  had  suspected,  tor  an  instant, 
that  the  urchin  was  chafiing  him,  a  second 
glance  at  his  (lushed  face  and  eager  gaze  con- 
vinced him  that  he  was  in  earnest. 

"Well,  is  that  all  you've  got  to  say?"  ho 
asked. 

"  That's  all,"  replied  the  boy,  with  n  grin. 
"You're  a  queer  lot,  and  I'd  like  to  have  a 
chat  with  ce,  but  haven't  got  time  just  now. 
Will  you  he  passin'  this  way  Toosedav  next  in 
the  evenin'?  " 
"  Yes." 

"Just  give  a  call  at  mybox— will  you?    I'll 
be  on  dooty  there  again  that  night." 
"I  will,"  said  the  hoy,  decidedly. 
The  fireman  shook   the   urchin's  dirty  little 
hand,  and  so  they  parted. 

It  was  still  dark  when  Tom  Brandcrs  turned 
the  corner  of  his  own  little  street  and  knocked 
:ioftIy   at   the  door  of   his  dwelling.     Not  so 
knocked  his  heart  against  his  heaving  breast, 
v.hen  Mary  lifted  the  latch  and  let  him  in. 
"  I'm  glad  you  are  late,"  said  his  wife. 
"  Why  so?"  asked  Tom,  in  some  anxiety. 
"  Because    our   darling    has    been   sleeping 
sweetly  for  three  hours,  and  still  sleeps.     The 
doctor  has  been  here  again,  and  says  that  she 
has  got  the  turn,  and  we  have  every  reason  to 
hope  that  she  will  recover." 

The  fireman's  first  impulse  was  to  exclaim, 
in  the  words  of  the  father  to  whose  heart  he 
had  so  recently  brought  gladness.  "Thank 
the  Lord,  Alice  is  alive!"  Then,  sitting  by 
the  bedside  of  his  slumbering  child,  he  related 
to  his  wife,  in  whispered  sentences,  how  that 
a  great  fire  had  broken  out,  and  many  lives 
had  been  in  jeopardy,  and  another  Alice 
would  prob.ibly  have  been  among  the  dead  at 
that  hour,  andtmother  father  would  have  been 
in  deepest  woe,  if  he  had  forsaken  his  post 
that  night  even  for  the  brief  space  of  quarter 
of  an  hour  I 

To  dress  the  slight  cuts  in  his  hands,  and 
remove  the  traces  of  his  recent  battle  with  the 
flames,  w  is  a  work  that  occupied  the  fireman 
but  a  short  space  of  time.  Thereafter  he  kissed 
his  sleeping  child,  flung  himself,  half  dressed, 
•-.pon  his  bed,  and  in  two  minutes  was  sound 
asleep,  with  his  coat,  cap,  belt,  boots,  and 
breeches  laid  handy  on  a  chair,  to  bo  ready  at 
a  moment's  notice  for  another  "  call ;  "  for  the 
London  fireman's  warfare  is  perpetual,  and  hi» 
vigils  never  em* 


-A 


t> 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


'.-:$ 


1.0 


I.I 


1^ 

1^2 


111 


iiiiii 


1^  IIIIIM 


1.8 


1.25 

1.4 

1.6 

"< 6"     — 

^ 

(SS 


Hiotographic 

Sdences 
Corporation 


d 


,\ 


^% 


#, 


•O' 


^\ 


^ 


a/ 


o^ 


^n>  '^<^ 


23  WEST  MAtN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


o 


C/a 


'4 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


;V.y^5iBg^'fe'j^?=^ig?£^y^*«'?f*g^-;:y^>'^J''J^  ^;y^^*-^«tf  j^--=.^f»g'  '*?B''^>-'*?'y^*^'''''^^'^'''^-'^ 


'^a  ■  f-j»j  ji.  tL'iii  III  **rt*i."- 


■  ■fji) .■>!*'>li,™!  ij  j  ■I""  '■g^!t'<M!*''*"*J'.'"»*">g'l>*<!tBlJ*'l*W*''l'-.  ^,^***        l^y^ 


1 


SARDINES 


187 


A  Racb  for  a  Market.     Page  192. 


SARDINES. 

WHERE  THEY  COME  PBOM,  AND  HOW 
THEY  ARE  CAUGHT. 

BY   GEORGE  M.  TOWLE; 

HAVE  you  never  wondered,  as  at  the  home 
tea-table  you  partook  of  tlie  delicate, 
shiny  little  fish  which  come  in  such  tight, 
hard-to-get-open  boxes,  packed  in  such  tempt- 
ing little  layers,  and,  when  once  extricated 
from  their  air-tight  prisons,  so  deliciously 
tasting,  —  have  you  never  wondered  how  they 
are  caught,  and  by  what  means  they  are  so 
skilfully  preserved.'  How  came  they  by  their 
name,  which  reminds  you  of  an  interesting 
island  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  of  a  snug 
little  kingdom  under  the  Alps,  where  Victor 
Emmanuel  useu  tc  reign  in  modest  state  be- 
fore he  was  called  upon  to  sit  upon  the  throne 
of  united  Italy  at  Rome.'  And  how  can  such 
little  fish  be  caught?  and  what  makes  them  so 
much  more  delicate  than  the  smelt  and  min- 
nows which  we  fish  out  of  the  harbor  and  the 
little  uistic  streams.' 

I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  an  interesting 
excursion  J  once  made  to  the  very  spot  where 
almost,  if  not  quite,  all  the  sardine.-;  we  get  in 
America  are  gathered  out  of  the  sea.     It  was 


not  in  the  Mediterranean,  as  you  might  sup- 
pose; for,  although  sardines  are  so  called  be- 
cause they  were  originally  found  in  glistening 
shoals  round  about  the  Sardinian  Island,  but 
few  are  now  taken  in  that  beautiful  southern 
sea.  The  great  sardine  trade  is  supplied  from 
the  coasts  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  where,  you, 
no  doubt,  have  heard,  the  storms  rage  with 
unusual  violence,  whose  waters  are  often 
strewed  with  wrecks,  and  which  lashes  the 
shores  of  France  with  a  sort  of  spiteful  fury, 
as  if  it  were  a  very  greedy  sea,  and  wanted 
more  elbow-room.  Starting  from  Paris  at  five 
in  the  evening,  it  took  me  all  night  to  cross 
France,  going  westward  ;  and  in  the  morning 
I  found  myself  at  Nantes,  a  quaint,  tumble- 
down old  citv,  where  the  houses  seemed  tipsy, 
and  the  streets  crazy,  the  capital  of  ancient 
Brittany.  Here,  you  may  remember,  in  the 
old,  round-towered  castle,  which  they  now  use 
as  a  barracks,  the  good  Henry  of  Navarre 
signed  the  famous  Edict  of  Nantes,  which 
gave  a  little  freedom  and  breathing-time  to 
the  poor,  persecuted  Protestants  of  France. 
But  I  did  not  remain  there  long,  tliough  it  was 
interesting  to  wander  about  the  musty  old 
squares,  and  linger  in  the  lofty,  age-worn 
cathedral.  A  further  railway  journey  along 
the  banks   of   the   wide,    rapid,    and    i>land- 


I88 


SARDINES. 


studded  Loire  brought  me  to  the  coast.    A 
queer  coast  it  was,  bordered  here  with  long, 
flat  marshes,  reaching  on  one  side  as  far  as  e^e  ' 
could  reach;  there  with  big,  jagged,  eccentric 
rocks,  some  of  which  seemed  on  the  point  of 
throwing  their  next-door  lock-neighbor  into 
the  sea,  and  others   lay  over  on  tlieir  sides,  as 
if  lliey  were  tired  of  resisting  tlie  waters,  and  i 
were  at  last  yielding  to  the  persistent  castiga-  | 
tion  of  the  waves.     It  was  about  the  first  of  ! 
June— the  fishing   season,  as   th»   y^w  Eng- 
land boys  very  well  know,  almost  everywhere. 
Had  I  been  at  home,  I  should  have  been,  on 
that  same  first  of  June,  buried  in  the  depths 
of  the  New  Ilampshn-e  hills,  following  trout 
streams  up  the  cool  woods,  being  bitten  now 


At  Nantes. 

and  then,  doubtless,  by  mosquitos.  but  so 
rapt  in  circumventing  the  sly  little  wretches 
in  the  brook  as  to  let  them  bite  without  a 
struggle.  Here  I  was,  however,  fnr  ofTon  the 
west  coast  of  France,  surrounded  by  a  num- 
ber of  rough  old  fishermen  with  faces  th.-.t 
looked  like  leather,  blue  frocks,  big,  wooden 
shoes,  and  speaking  a  language  which  not 
even  my  Parisian  chum,  who  came  witli  me, 
could  comprehend,  and  which  I  consequently 
did  not  try  to  unravel.  They  were  big,  brown 
fellows,  with  rough  voices,  like  a  trombone 
with  a  very  bad  cold,  but  good-natured  withal, 
and  ate  their  breakfast  of  cold  buckwheat 
cakes,  sour  bread,  and  more  sour  wine,  with 
as  much  gusto  as  you  and  I.  do  a  nice  Ameri- 
can dinner  at  home. 


'  All  along  that  queer-looking  coast—  which, 
I  observed,  everywhere  had  exactly  the  ap- 
pearance of  having  been  for  centuries  the 
battle-ground  of  water  against  earth,  waves 
against  rocks  — they  were  fishing  for  sardines. 
The  extent  of  sea  over  which  the  fishing  goes 
on  comprises  many  miles,  extending  from 
Morbihan  to  La  W-ndc'e  :  the  best  qualitv,  ac- 
cording to  the  fishermen's  traditions,  is  'c  be 
found  opposite  a  picturesque  little  seaport  in 
the  south,  called  Lcs  Sables  d'Olonnes.  Myri- 
ads of  these  beautiful  little  fishes  begin  to 
swarm  up  the  coast,  in  shoals  of  some  thirty 
feet  wide,  early  in  the  spring.  Go  out  a  mile 
or  so  from  the  shore  in  one  of  the  old,  flat, 
lumbering  fishermen's  boats;  at  this  time  of 
year,  and  you  will  see  these  shoals  floating 
not  far  from  the  surface,  and  glittering  like  an 
infinite  number  of  little  .-iqueous  prisms.  The 
little  shiners  are  countless,  and  wiggle  along 
close  together,  p.acked  almost  as  tightly  as 
they  are  destined  soon  to  be  in  those  extremely 
obstinate  boxes,  and  move  in  so  solid  a  mass 
that,  unless  you  look  very  intentl3-,  you  may 
imagine  them  to  comprise  but  one  big,  glis- 
tening, many-colored  sea  monster.  When  they 
are  young,  they  are,  like  human  children,  in- 
nocent and  confiding,  and  fearing  nothing, 
keep  pretty  close  to  the  shore,  and  even  at 
times  run  in  shoals  up  the  b.iys  and  inlets. 
As  they  grow  bigger,  however,  which  they  do 
very  fast  as  the  summer  advances,  they  begin 
to  get  suspicious,  and  more  shy  of  the  shore, 
and  when  Uiey  have  become  quite  mature, 
cannot  be  induced  to  approach  nearer  than 
nine  or  ten  miles  from  man's  earthly  habita- 
tion. The  sardines  are  very  tender  little  fel- 
lows; they  are  as  sensitive  to  raw  and  squally 
weather  as  an  elderly  lady  with  weak  lungs. 
When  it  is  warm  and  the  sun  shines  bright, 
in  what  countless  shoals  do  they  dot  the  wa- 
ters!  But  let  a  chilly  breeze  come  up,  and 
the  heavens  become  leaden,  and  you  may 
scour  the  sea  far  and  near,  to  catch  sight  of 
one  of  them,  in  vain. 

We  get  into  one  of  the  squat,  ugly  bolts, 
with  its  queer,  flat  oars,  and  its  rough  and 
rather  too  leaky  bottom,  and  push  off  from  the 
rocks.  There  are  with  us  four  stout  Breton 
fishermen,  in  coarse  caps  and  blouses,  and  a 
pudgy  Breton  boy,  with  a  big  moon  face  and 
rather  dull  eyes,  bronzed  brown  with  a  con- 
stant exposure  to  the  sun.  He  is  bareheaded, 
and  his  hair  is  the  color  of  decayed  tow.  We 
are  provided  with  several  closely-woven  nets, 
and  in  one  corner  of  the  boat  is  a  tub  full  of 
cod  roe.  Cod  roe  is  the  bait  wherewith  the 
tender  shiners  are  lured  from  their  native  ele- 


1 


J 


iiinpiipi 


'  -;  V     ',;i',"*,,i. 


TilB 


I  'I'll'  [;i 
J  I'l'i '    III  ' 


■il  JmhUU   >I     I  li   ill  litibib  U<1'  IiwLlilHiMlllll  H  UMi....>.utliL 


L. 


1 


SARDINES. 


191 


Dropping  the  Net. 


ment.    The  roe  and  milt  of  litiR  fish  are  also 
much  used.    This  roe  is  imported,  at  consider- 
able cost,  from  Norway,  and  might  be  from 
the  United  States  if  our  merchants  and  the 
Bretons  knew  it.     Often  the  fishermen  have  to 
pay  letween  twenty  and  thirty  dollars  in  •,'old 
per  birrel  for  it,  and  they  require  some  $400,000 
■worth  .of  it  every  fishing  season.     Each  boat 
consumes  yearly  seventeen  barrels  of  it.  Some- 
times the  fishermen  mix  with  the  roe  a  kind 
of  shrimps,  native  to  their  coast,   which   are 
collected  by  odd  old  women  in  the  salt  marsh- 
es round  about,  and  sold  to  the  fishermen. 
These  old  women  are  called   '■•c/ievreflicref," 
which   might  be  translated   in  our  American 
slang  as   "  shrimpists."      The   fishermen   say 
that  these  shrimps  are  only  of  use  to  disturb 
the  water,  for  the  sardines  do  not  take  to  them 
as  bait.     When  we  have  got  out,  by  dint  of 
persistent  pulling,  jerking,  and  bouncing,  some 
three  leagues   from   the   shore,   and,  looking 
back,  can  see  the  coast  of  stormy  old  Bisc.iy 
stretching  dim  and  jagged  for  miles  up  and 
down,  our  chief  fisherman,  who  uses  his  au- 
thority with  sober  sternness,  and  speaks  very 
little,  gives  orders  to  stop  rowing;  and  pres- 
ently we  see  why,  for  now  the  shoals  of  sar- 
dines begin  to  glisten  all  around  in  the  water, 
four  or  five  feet  below  the  surface,  and  the 
fishing  is  about  to  begin.     Slowly  and  care- 
fully the  mesh  is  unwrapped,  stretched  out, 
and  held  over  the  boat's  side.     Here  comes  a 
shoal  of  fine,  fat  little  fellows,  wiggling  co- 
quettishly  along,  and  quite  unsuspicious  of  their 
danger.     The  net  is  quickly  and  silently  slid 
right  down  among  them,  not  horizontally  or 
slantingly,   but    perpendicularly,    so    tliat    it 
floats  like  a  little  wall  of  thread.     Then,  in  an 
instant,  captain  plunges  his  hand  in  the  roe, 
crushes  it  out  of  lumps  into  bits,  and  scatters 
it  thick  and  fast  as  near  to  the  mesh  as  he  can. 
The  countless  sardines  rush  for  it  headlong, 
and  rush  and  jostle  each  other,  and  are  so  in- 
tent on   the   roe   that,  before   they  know  it, 


thousands  of  them  are  hopelessly  entangled 
in  the  meshes,  and  stick  there  struggling. 
There  are  still  multitudes  left  after  the  net  is 
completely  dotted  with  the  poor,  captive  little 
creatures.  The  net  is  pulled  up,  another  fresh 
net  instantly  inserted  in  its  place,  which  gath- 
ers a  harvest  as  plentiful  as  the  preceding  one. 
More  roc  is  thrown  out,  and  trickles  fast  down 
through  the  green  waters;  and  thus  again 
and  again  the  nets  are  thrown  and  drawn  in, 
laden  heavy  with  their  fishy  burden. 

Observe  that  the  sardines  are  not  bagged 
in  the  nets,  —  as  most  fish  caught  with  nets 
are,  — but  are  caught  in  the  meshes,  and  hang 
helplessly  entangled  in  them,  in  a  hopeless 
though  desperate  struggle  to  set  themselves 
free.  And  now  the  inside  of  the  flat-bottomed 
boat  is  swarming  with  the  shining,  writhing 
mass;  but  they  soon  cease  to  writhe;  for  our 
remorseless  captain  proceeds  to  sprinkle  salt 
over  them,  right  and  le''t.  The  reason  of  this 
is,  that  the  sardine  is  the  frailest  and  most 
delicate  fish  that  swims.  After  he  has  been 
out  of  water  an  hour,  he  begins  to  decay,  and 
the  salt  is  sprinkled  over  him  to  preserve  him 
temporarily  until  there  is  time  to  put  him  upon 
the  market  for  sale,  or  till  he  can  be  consigned 
to  the  factories  for  permanent  preservation. 
But  they  are  not  so  much  suited  when  thus 
taken  out  of  their  native  element  but  that  they 
are  mighty  pleasant  to  the  palate  even  of 
him  who  does  not  like  salt  fish.  In  the  Breton 
towns  and  cities  fresh  sardines  are  a  very  fa- 
vorite, because  cheap  and  delicious,  article  of 
food.  Should  you  spend  a  night  in  one  of 
them  at  about  the  period  when  the  fishing  is 
going  on,  you  would  be  startled  from  your 
slumbers  by  a  very  queer,  shrill,  long-drawn- 
out  cry  under  your  windows.  Should  you 
summon  courage,  and  have  the  curiosity,  to 
jump  out  of  bed  and  go  to  your  window,  yoii 
would  see  a  great,  brawny,  leather-colored 
peasant  woman  passing  along  the  street,  clat- 
tering noisily  with  her  big  wooden  shoes,  and 


-MJam 


19a 


SARDINES. 


you  would  discern  upon  her  head  a  long,  flat 
basket  full  of  burdines.    These  she  sells  from 
door  to  door,  going  her  rounds  early  enough  to 
provide  her  fare  for  the  breakfast-tables;  she 
sells  them  for  a  cent  or  two  each,  though  if 
she  perceives  you  to  be  "  Anglais  "  or  "  Ameri- 
cain,"  she  will  try  to  get  double  the  ordinary 
price  out  of  you.     These  sardines  are  onlj  a 
very  trifle  salt :  get  your  landlady  to  fry  them 
in  the  peculiar  Breton  fashion,  and  you  will 
have  a  most  delicious,  delicate,  savory  break- 
fast of  them,  fit  for  a  king,  and  such  a  break- 
fast, indeed,  as  kings  themselves  would  only 
obtain  by  going  where  the  sardines  are;  the 
mountain  must  come  to  Mohammed.     They 
are,  prepared  in  this  way,  the  sweetest,  and 


Sardine  Vender. 

tenderest,  and  juiciest  of  all  the  finny  tribe. 
But,  of  course,  by  far  the  larger  portion  of  the 
sardines  are  sold  by  the  fishermen  to  the  fac- 
tories for  preserving  and  sending  them  abroad. 
There   are  very   many  of  these   factories   all 
along  the  Breton  coast,  and  there  is  a  lively 
competition  among  them  to  secure  the  freshest 
and  healthiest  fish.      So  it  is  captain's  great 
ambition,  having  duly  got  in  and  salted  down 
his  harvest,  to  hurry  ofl;-  -md  dispose  of  it  be- 
fore his  rivals,  who  may  be  seen  dotting  the 
waters  at  irregular  distances  for  miles  around, 
have  a  chance   to   anticipate   him.      We   are 
therefore  in  a  great  hurry  in  our  return  voyage 
shoreward.     Captai,n  is  anxious,  and  rips  out 
savage,  though    to  us  quite  incomprehensible, 
Breton  oaths  at  the  other  men  for  not  rowing 
more  stoutly  and  steadily.  He  peers  nervously 


I  on  this  side  and  that,  to  see  if  Pierre  or  Jacques 
I  IS  not  making  land  before  him.     To  be  sure, 
there  «  Jacques,  frantically  gesticulating,  as  he 
stands    in    the   stem    of  his   boat,    and   very 
nearly  on   a  line  with   us,  at  sight  of  which 
captain  grows  more  nervous  and  profane  than 
ever, -my  Parisian  friend  thinks  he  is  sum- 
moning  ten  thousand  imps  or  so  to  his  aid  - 
and  we  lurch,  and  jerk,  and  crash  so,  that  it 
seems  as  if  every  moment  we  were  rbout  to 
dump  the  whole  of  our  precious  load  into  the 
boiling  waters  of  Biscay.    At  last,  however, 
we  make  land  in  safety.   Captain  and  his  men 
carefully  gather  up  the  sardines  in  rude  tubs 
and  barrels;  a  little  wagon  is  at  hand,  with  a 
most  solemn-faced  little  donkey  saddled  to  it; 
and  before  we  have  had  more  than  time  to  ob- 
serie  that  Jacques  also  is  at  his  landing,  and  is 
going  through  similar  exertions,  ot!' rattles  cap- 
tain to  the  little  town  whose  single  topsy-turvy 
spire  just  peeps  above  a  cliff  half  a  mile  away. 
NVe  folloA   him  as  we  can,   for  our  legs  are 
somewhat  stift'from  being  so  long  cramped  in 
the  boat,  and  the  shore  is  jagged  and  rocky, 
and  difiicult  to  creep  along. 

Arrived  at  the  "  confiserie,"  as  the  preserving 
establishment  is  called,  we  find  that  the  canny 
captain  has  already  made   his  bargain  with  a 
sleek-looking  man,  in  the  oflice  near  the  door, 
who  is  counting  out  some  silver  to  him.     Cap- 
tain look-s  beaming,  and  hands  a  ten-sous  piece 
to  each  of  his   men,  who   rush   off  to   treat 
themselves,  and,   turning  to  us,  tells  us  that 
he    has   secured   six   liancs   (a   dollar  and   a 
quarter)  per  thousand  for  his  boat-load.     As 
the  load  counted  between  four  and  five  thou- 
sand, it  was  a   very  successful  day  —  for  the 
average  of  a  summer's  work  to  each  man  is 
not  over  about  two  hundred  dollars.     They, 
like  our  summer-resort  hotels,  have  to  make 
h.iy  while  the  sun  shines. 

The  proprietors  of  the  "  confiserie  "  lose  no 
time   in   submitting   their  acquisition  to   the 
processes  for  preserving  them.     As   we  pass 
through  the  rooms  nearest  the  office,  we  ob- 
serve piles  of  glistening  tin  boxes,  of  many 
sizes,  neatly  stowed  on  long  shelves,  ready  to 
receive  their  contents  now  preparing  for  them 
farther  on.    The  first  thing  that  is    done  to 
the  fish  is  to  wash  and  scrape  them  with  great 
care;  and  this   is  done  in  a   long  room  pro- 
vided with  sinks  for  the  purpose,  by  a  number 
of  strong,  lusty-looking  peasant  women,  who 
wear  long  linen  caps,  which  evtend   out  hori- 
zontally at  the  back  of  their  heads,  and  have 
metal  chains  around  their  necks.  These  women 
wash  and  clean  the  sardines  with  great  rapid- 
ity, and  take  care  that  they  are  quite  free  fronj 


1 


SARDINES. 


193 


erre  or  Jacques 
•  To  be  sure, 
iculating,  as  he 
aat,  and  very 
ight  of  which 
il  profane  than 
ks  he  is  sum- 
3  to  his  aid,  — 
ish  so,  that  it 
were  rbout  to 

load  into  tlic 
last,  however, 
1  and  his  men 

in  rude  tubs 

hand,  with  a 
saddled  to  it; 
m  time  to  ob- 
tnding,  and  is 
>ff  rattles  cap- 
e  topsy-turvy 

a  mile  away, 
our  legs  are 
J  cramped  in 
i  and  rocky, 

le  preserving 
lat  the  canny 
rgain  with  a 
.:ar  tlie  door, 
1  him.     Cap- 
!n-sous  piece 
off   to   treat 
:ells  us  that 
ollar  and   a 
It-load.    As 
d  five  thou- 
xy  — for  the 
ach  man  is 
ars.     They, 
ve  to  make 

rie  "  lose  no 
tion  to   the 
Vs   we  pass 
lice,  we  ob- 
s,  of  many 
es,  ready  to 
ig  for  them 
is    done   to 
I  with  great 
room  pro- 
y  a  number 
omen,  who 
out  hori- 
,  and  have 
lese  women 
reat  rapid- 
e  free  fron) 


1 


the  sand  and  weeds  which  cling  to  tnem.  The 
heads  and  gills  are  then  quickly  and  skilfully 
cutoff  with  long,  sharp,  narrow-bladcd  knives, 
and  the  bodies  are  theu  lightly  sprinkled  with 
fine  salt,  which  crystallizes  on  the  surface,  and 
is  afterwards  scraped  off  and  given  as  a  per- 
quisite to  the  women.  Having  been  thus  duly 
washed  and  salted,  they  arc  laid  out  to  dry 
upon  wire  or  willow  frames  :  this  is  done  in  fine 
weather  on  the  roofs ;  and  sardines  are  much 
nicer  if  thus  dried  in  the  sun.  But  there  is 
a  long,  slightly  heated  room  where  they  are 
dried  in  case  it  is  damp  or  rainy  —  as  it  very 
often  is  in  inclement  Brittany  —  out  of  doors. 
When  they  are  thoroughly  stiff  and  dry,  they 
are  thrown  into  caldrons   ot  boiling  oil,  situ- 


^sm 


in  each  wooden  case,  and  thus  forwarded  to 
their  destination.     It  is  a  curious  fact  about 
sardines,  that  the  longer  they  are  kept,  so  the 
box  is  not  cracked  or  opened,  the  better  they 
are ;  a  long  residence  in  the  oil  improves  their 
complexion  as  well  as  their  taste  ;  they  become 
mellow  and  fine  after  several  years'  detention 
in  their  oily  prison.     Hundreds  of  thousands 
of  these  little  boxes  come  yearly  to  this  country, 
giving  to  our  housewives  and  cooks  unlimited 
bother  in   opening   them,    and   our   tables  a 
relish  such  as  we  could  ill  do  without,  while  for 
a  long  journey  or  a  picnic  party  they  are  well 
nigh  indispensable.     Indeed,   so  popular  are 
these  tiny  inhabitants  of  restless  Biscay,  that 
otherfish.much  less  delicious,  are  put  upby  un- 
scrupulous men,  in  a  similar  way,  and  labelled 
"Sardines;"   but  those  who  arc  accustomed 
to  the  real  article  will  seldom  be  deceived. 


Cleaning  S.irdlnes. 

atedln  the  cellars,  and  here  they  are  leftseeth; 
ing  and  sputtering  for  some  two  hours.  Once 
more,  on  having  been  thus  thoroughly  cooked, 
they  are  laid  out  to  dry.  Then  they  are 
taken  to  a  room  where  a  large  number  of  open 
tin  boxes  are  arranged  in  rows  along  a  series  of 
tables,  and  packed  quickly  therein,  some  of  the 
boiling  oil  being  poured  f>n  them.  The  lids  are 
now  fitted  to  the  boxes,  and  these  are  subjected 
to  a  jet  of  hot  steair.  for  a  specified  time.  They 
are  thus  sealed  tight,  and  it  is  singular  that 
after  this  subjection  to  the  steam  the  boxes 
appear  curved  on  both  sides  ;  if  they  are  found 
not  to  be  so,  they  are  rejected  as  not  air-tight. 
They  are  soldered,  burnished,  and  labelled  by 
the  women,  and  sometimes  are  enamelled. 
About  one  hundred  of  these  boxes  are  packed 
13 


194 


ICE-BOATING. 


lOE-BOATING. 


BY  WILLIAM    P.    DUNCAN. 


ICE-BOAT  sailiiit;  is  very  exliilaratina;  and 
healthful,  yet  possesses  the  elements  of 
danger,  whieh  may  add  to  its  attractions  for 
some  minds;  for  boys  are  brave  even  to  Uic 
verge  of  recklessness,  and  many  hair-breadth 
escapes  there  are,  the  narration  of  whicli 
would  seem  stranger  than  fiction.  The  writer 
well  remembers  many  years  ago  the  thrilling 
sensation  experienced  in  his  first  ride  over  the 
ice  on  a  lake  in  a  western  town.  Our  boat  — 
shaped  like  a  flat-iron,  with  the  rudder  at  the 
point,  a  short  runner  under  each  corner, 
rigged  with  mast,  mainsail,  and  jib  —  and  the 
boat  in  motion,  like  a  flat-iron  going  back- 
wards—but such  going!  such  motion  !  The 
lake  was  about  two  miles  acroos,  the  wind 
fair,  our  steersman  a  lad  of  nerve  and  spirit, 
used  to  a  boat.  Our  ride  was  simply  delight- 
ful, but  all  too  short  I  for  when  we  started  we 
looked  up,  and  then  about  and  up  again,  and 
lo !  we  had  reached  the  opposite  shore.  Dis- 
tance was  annihilated,  steam-travel  eclipsed, 
crowded,  unhealthy  cars  forgotten.  We  turned 
about  and  fairly  revelled  in  our  coursings  up 
and  down  our  icy  way.  That  ride  passed 
safely  enough,  but  our  final  landing  was  ef- 
fected rather  abruptly,  by  reason  of  the  rudder 


becoming  somewhat  unmanageable,  and  we 
bunted  the  wharf  in  a  way  that  more  than 
suggested  a  wreck,  and  sent  our  crev.-  rolling 
upon  the  ice  very  promiscuously r— but  no 
bones  of  ours  were  broken,  though  the  front 
of  the  boat  was  crushed  in. 

A  few  days  alter,  having  repaired  damages, 
we  went  on  another  excursion.  It  was  near 
the  middle  of  spring;  the  ice  looked  sound 
enough,  though  a  little  honeycombed  in 
spots ;  and  teams  were  yet  crossing  to  the 
mills  on  the  other  side.  The  lake  formed  the 
mouth  (rather  a  wide  one)  of  a  river  that 
flowed  into  Lake  Michigan,  some  three  miles 
away.  We  could  see  its  blue  waters  in  the 
distance,  but  as  our  boat  was  nr.t  fiited  for 
sailing  there,  we  kept  away  from  it.  A  high 
wind  had  been  blowing  for  many  hours  in- 
land from  the  "  big  lake,"  and  some  of  our 
friends  had  cautioned  us  to  look  out  for 
"  breaking-up  time"  —  and  one  more  timid 
than  the  rest  had  even  advised  us  not  to  ven- 
ture far  from  shore;  but,  nothing  daunted, 
we  embarked,  and  by  a  succession  of  tacks 
crossed  and  re-crossed  the  lake  several  times. 
The  surface  of  the  ice  was  dotted  with  many 
sails  that  seemed  all  like  swift,  strong-winged, 
white  birds  flying  to  and  fro;  and  our  hearty 
"Ship  ahoy!"  was  scarcely  heard,  if  we 
chanced  to  meet,  so  quickly  did  we  pass. 

There  was  a  mill  way  down  the  lake,  and 


! 


able,  and  we 
lat  more  tlian 
crew  rolling 
islyt— hut  no 
luyli  the  front 

ired  damages, 
It  was  near 
looked   sound 
evcombed    in 
ssing    to    the 
kc  formed  the 
a    river   that 
ic  three  miles 
voters   in  the 
iif,t  fitted  for 
n  it.     A  high 
ny  hours  in- 
some  of  our 
look    out    for 
more    timid 
IS  not  to  ven- 
ing  daunted, 
iion   of  tacks 
everal  times, 
d  with  man y 
•ong-wingod, 
id  our  hearty 
leard,    if  we 
.e  pass, 
he  lake,  and 


■IMwiMa 


i 


ICE     nOATING. 


»97 


one  of  our  mtmher  had  an  attraction  in  that  vi- 
cinity; at  an^'  rate,  he  proposeil  tal<ini,' a  run 
that  wav,  and,  hoy-like,  we  ail  consented,  not- 
withstanding the  caution  we  hail  received. 
\Ve  arrived  safely,  and  found  very  af;reeahle 
company  at  tlie  mill  hoardinij-house,  and  the 
proprietor  stron,t,'ly  pressed  us  to  stay  that 
nifjht,  for  a  "  party"  was  contemplated  in  the 
evenins;;  and  if  any  of  my  readers  know  what 


rose  to  the  surface  just  hcside  us,  and  quickly 
clutched  the  pole,  as  only  one  drownin^j  can, 
and  we  drew  him  safel^'  out  —  more  dead  than 
alive.  Oui  shouts  of  rejoicinj;  ranj{  out  over 
the  lake,  and,  as  we  afterwards  learned,  were 
heard  miles  away.  \'ifjorous  ruhb'ng  soon 
restored  our  half-drowned  sailor,  —  who  was 
really  fjoiiig  down  for  the  thiril  time  as  we 
rescued    him,  and    our    spirits    revived,  —  for 


a  \VL'stern  "party"  is,  it  will  he  acknowledi,'ed  j  youth  is  seldom  lonR  cast  down,  — and  our 
a  strotii;  temptation  was  init  in  our  way.  Yet  |  pleasure  at  saving  his  life  warmed  our  bodies 
to  some  of  us  it  did  seem  that  we  ougiu  to  he  |  as  well  as  our  hearts.  \Vc  started  again  along 
returning.  We  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  |  the  edge  of  the  chasm,  dragging  our  boat 
«'  big  lake,"  but  the  ice  we  had  traversed  till  we  reached  the  point,  and,  rounding  it, 
lookal  firm  and  secure,  and  we  yielded.  The  j  came  up  the  other  side,  embarked,  and  once 
next  morning,  it  Nvas  plain  to  see  that  the  ice  |  more  sped  on  our  way. 

had  undergone  a  change.  It  had  rained  a  lit-  !  "Do  you  sec  that.' "  shouted  one  of  our  crew. 
tie  during  "the  night,  and  large  patches  of  the  ,  We  looked  astern,  and  ever  and  anon  we  could 
surface  were  covered  with    shallow   pools   of 


•water.  There  was  a  dark,  treacherous  appear- 
ance to  the  ice,  and  one  of  our  number  de- 
cided not  to  return  with  us,  but  go  down  to 
the  mouth  of  the  river  and  cross  in  a  ferry- 
boat. The  rest  of  us  were  determined  to  re- 
turn as  we  came,  although  our  kind  host 
urged  us  to  follow  the  example  of  our  cautious 
comrade. 

Biilcling    our  friends   good    by,    we     started 


see  great  cakes  of  ice  turn  uji  on  end,  and  sink 
again  in  the  wake  of  our  runners.  Some  of 
us  turned  pale,  I  fear,  but  we  were  none  the 
less  brave  for  it.  Thanks  to  a  kind  Providence, 
we  skimmeil  the  watery  waste  in  safety,  and 
on  reaching  our  home  landing,  found  the 
wharf  lined  with  anxious  friends,  who  received 
us  with  loud  acclamations  of  delight  and  wel- 
come. That  ended  our  ice-boating  for  the 
season,  for  as  we  looked  out  the  next  morning, 


homeward;  the  wind  was  strong,  still  blowing  j  we  saw  the  ice  moving  majestically  out  to  the 


inland,  and  our  steel  runners  fairly  hummed 
over  the  ice,  as  Me  Hew  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind.  We  would  dash  through  the  surface 
Avater,  throwing  it  all  about  us,  if  by  any 
means  we  fell  .)fV  our  course.  All  went  well 
for  a  time,  and  we  were  congratulating  our- 
selves on  our  prob.able  safe  return,  when  sud- 
denly, as  we  were  bowling  along  at  our  top- 
most spoed,  wc  spied  just  ahead  of  us  a  wide 
seam  in  the  ice,  and  the  blue  water  of  the 
lake  tost^ing  and  chafing  either  side  of  it. 

"  Put  about !  "  "  Put  about !  "  "  Put  about !  " 
was  shouteil  by  us  all. 

Our  steersman,  with  wonderful  speed,  did 
"  put  about,"  and  our  vessel  obeyed  the  helm, 
but  with  such  terrible  swiftness  that  one  of 
our  number  was  hurled  with  frightful  velocity 
into  the  very  chasm  we  were  seeking  to  avoiil. 
It  was  a  fearful  moment;  the  catastrophe 
broke  upon  us  so  suddenly,  that  we  were  ill 
prepared  for  it.  But,  as  I  said  before,  our  steers- 
man was  a  lad  of  nerve  and  spirit,  and  putting 
the  craft  in  charge  of  one  of  our  number,  he 
seized  a  pole  which  we  carried,  and  ran  quickly 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  chasm,  plunged  it  in, 
peering  anxiously  in  all  directions ;  but  no 
boy  was  there.  The  thought  was  agonizing 
that  the  current  might  have  carried  our  luck- 
less comrade   under  the  ite ;  but  suddenly  he 


big  lake."  and    in  a   few  hours   it  was  all  an 
open  sea.  ^ 


UJK 


MJu 


I! 

lli 


198 


A    BULL-FIGIIT    IN     MADRID. 


A  BULL-FIGHT  IN  MADRID. 

HY   OLIVER    OPTIC. 

"DETWEEN  tlic  biill-liglu  that  voii  "re;.! 
AJ  about  "  and  the  bull-fight  that  3011  see  i.'i 
Spain  at  the  present  time,  unless  the  imagina- 
tion is  quick,  and  read v  to  supply  deficiencies, 
there  are  -iome  important  ditV^rcnces.  Possi- 
bly the  spectator  who  is  filled  with  an  intense 
admiration  of  Spanish  valor  and  skill,  may  l)e 
able  to  realize  all  the  glories  of  which  he  has 
read  in  the  books.  We  hav;  come  to  the  con- 
clusion, as  an  explanation  of  the  difference 
between  what  we  saw  and  what  we  read, 
that  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  age  has 
penetrated  the  interior  of  Spain;  that  as  rail- 
roads now  extend  from  north  to  south,  and 
from  ca.t  to  west,  over  the  entire  length  an  ' 
breadth  of  the  country,  they  l.ave  jiroduced  . 
change  in  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
people.  Wherever  they  go,  they  carry  thrift 
and  intelligence,  and  elevate  the  ideas  of  even 
the  masses,  giving  broader  and  higher  views 
of  life  and  its  objeets.  A  Catholic  nation, 
with  the  traditions  of  .Spain  behind  it,  with 
the  memories  and  monuments  of  Charles  V. 
and  Philip  II.  still  extant,  which  had  the 
moral  courage  to  suppress  ^..e  monasteries 
within    its   borders,    must    be    a    progressive 


natioi-..  We  refer  to  the  action  of  a  Catholic 
peor)le  in  a  Catholic  country.  ^Ye  should 
hardly  expect  the  bull-fight  of  to-day.  though 
they<\,'.',i  e/e  toros  is  still  retained,  and  still 
enjoyed,  to  be  what  it  was.  even  twenty  years 
ago,  when  hardly  a  railroad  was  in  opera- 
tion in  all  Spain.  We  should  expect  to  see 
in  this  amus .iiient  the  same  modifications 
which  we  find  in  the  other  institutions  of  the 
country. 

We  have  been  told,  and  we  have  read,  that 
the  young  man  who  is  paying  his  addresses  to 
a  young  lady  takes  her  to  the   buU-figlit  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  that  tin-  omission  to  do 
this  would     be    considered    a   gross    neglect; 
gross  enough  to  justify  the  la.'\-  in  discarding 
so  neglectful  a  wooer.     Of  course,  then,  when 
we  went  to  a  bull-fiybt,  we  expected   to  see  a 
vast  number  of  ladies.     The  "bull-ring"  of 
Madriil  is  ^aid  to  contain  ten  or  t'velve   thou- 
sand people  when  it  is  full.     We  should  judge 
ihat     its    capacity    was    equal   to    this    num- 
ber.    We  visited  it  on   an  extraordinary  occa- 
sion, and  every  available  space   seemed   to   be 
occupied,    but   the   number  of  ladies   did    not 
I  exceed  two  hundred;   and  we  think  there  were 
j  not  more  than  half  ib.at  number.     We  left  t!;e 
I  place  when  the   exhibition   was  half  finished, 
'  and  walked  for  an    hour  in   the   Prado,  which 
was  crowded  with  people;  but  at  least  three 


'I 


'.>-, 


A    BULL-FIGHT     IN     MADRID- 


199 


n  of  a  Catholic 
y.  \Ve  should 
to-day,  thoiigli 
ained,  and  still 
n  twenty  years 
was  in  opera- 
d  expect  to  see 
:  modifications 
titutions  of  the 

have  read,  that 
!iis  addresses  to 

hiill-fii^lit  as  a 
omission  to  do 
j^ross  neglect; 
y  in  discarding 
rse.  then,  when 
lectcd  to  see  a 
'  bull-ring  "  of 
r  twelve  tlioii- 
''e  should  judge 

to  this  num- 
lordinary  occa- 

seemed  to  lie 
ladies  did  not 
link  there  were 
:r.  We  left  t!-.e 
i  half  finished, 
!   Prado,  which 

at  least   three 


fourths  of  them  were  ladies  and  children. 
The  inference  was,  that  the  men  were  at  the 
bull-ring,  while  the  ladies  preferred  the  clear 
air  and  the  bright  sun  of  the  beautiful  gardens 
which  abound  in  the  capital  of  Spain. 

Certainly  there  was  little  of  the  savage 
ferocitv  described  by  most  of  the  writers  on 
this  subiect.  Wr  have  conversed  with  those 
who  have  witnessed  bull-lights,  even  within  a 
do/eu  years,  in  which  as  many  as  twenty 
horses  were  killed  on  the  spot:  and  we  have 
read  of  occasions  on  which  double  this  num- 
ber were  sacrificed.  As  the  success  of  a 
fuiicion  depends  largely  upon  the  number  of 
horses  killed,  these  wer:;,  of  course,  very 
brilliant. 

We  saw  three  bulls  finished,  but  not  a  horse 
was  killed,  though  one  of  the  half  do/en 
ridden  must  have  died  from  his  injuries. 
Again,  the  fiery  steeds  which  appear  in  pic- 
tures and  in  the  animated  narratives  of  the 
national  pastime  of  Spain  are  not  to  be  found 
in  the  ring  at  the  present  day.  On  the 
contrarv.  they  arc  jaded  old  hacks,  which  have 
worn  out  their  lives  on  the  omnibuses  or 
public  carriages  of  the  city.  They  are  thin 
m  Hesh.  knock-kneed,  a-id  stiff,  afflicted  with 
spavins,  string-halt,  and  other  diseases. 
Though  the  public  cry  out  for  the  death  of 
the  hordes,  they  do  not  seem  to  be  extensively 
gratified. 

We  were  told  that  the  horses  were  supplied 
bv  contract  with  an  individual  or  a  company, 
who  — like    some   of    the    rings    in    our   own 
country  — bargain  to  cheat  the  people  out  of 
what  they  pay  for.     The   less  the  number  of 
horses  destroyed,  the  g.eater  are  the  gains  of 
the  contractor;  and  he   contrives  to  have  an 
imderstanding  with  the  operators  in   the   ring 
to   save   as  many  animals   as  possible,  which 
they  can  do  to  the  extent  the   temper  of  the 
audience  will  permit,  by  a  skilful  use  of  their 
banners  in  diverting  the  attention  of  the  bull. 
We    were    also     informetl    that,   in    case    the 
contractor's  horses  provideil  for   a  given  occa- 
sion   should   come    short  nf   the   nundier  re- 
quired,   he    has    unlir.iited    power   to    take    a 
further  supjily  from  ihe  cabs,  carts,  and  on.n  - 
buses   on    the  streets,  as    the    military    ma^ 
take  the    produce   of  the  country,  in   Wvv  of 
war,    from    friend  or  foe.     Of  course,    if   tlic 
people    are    gathered    to   see  horses    margled 
and  slaughtered,  they  must  not  be  disappoint- 
ed because  the  contractor  has  under-estimated 
the   ferocity   of    the    bull!       Horses    must   be 
killed,  even  if  hacks  and  omnibuses  are  stopped 
in  the  streets  to  obtain  the  victims. 

For   a  week   preceding  the  last  Sunday  in 


]  October,    1870,    the    streets    of    Madrid    were 
'  placarded  with  immense  yellow  posters,  with 
1  a  large  anil  coarse  cut  of  a  scene   in  the  bull- 
ring representing  the  death  of  a    bull.     Ihe 
hill  read  as  follows  :  — 


'■  Hill  Rim;. 

(Cut.) 

Oh  the  Afternoon  of  Sunday.  Octol>cr  30,  1870, 

Will  lie  performed 

( If  the  v.-eathei-  pcrmiti). 

The  tiventirfh  Hull- Fight. 

The  Last  of  the  Season  ! 

For  the  Benejit  of  the  Ceiieral  Hospital. 

The  Ring  -Mill  be  presided  over  l>y  the  proper 
Authorities. 

The  present  performance  will  positively  be  the 
last  of  the  season  ;  for  at  the  end  of  tin-  current 
month,  the  contracts  with  the  bull-fighters 
are  concluded. 


Espad.n. 

Foi  this  reason  their  Excellencies,  the 
Committee  of  the  Province,  desiring  to  express 
to  the  public  their  profound  gratitude  for  the 
numerous  occasions  which  have  contributed 
so  largelv  to  the  relief  of  the  sick  poor  in  the 
General  Hospital.  ha\e  arranged  that  this 
bull-fight  shall  have  all  the  features  of  an 
extraordinary  performance  ;  and  that,  in  cum- 


1^ 


^ 


Jka 


)\ 


M  < 


200 


A    BULL-FIGHT    IN    MADRID. 


pliment  to  the  people,  and  without  alteration 
of  the  price,  wii;  be  killed 

Eight  Bulls 
from  the  t-  ost  celebrated  ganaderias  (farms 
where  bulls  are  raised).  The  committee  have 
arranged  that  the  Ring  shill  be  adorned  with 
splendid  hangings;  that  the  v. liolc  shall  be  a 
^i?-n/a  performance;  that  the  bandarillas  shall 
be  ornamented  with  garlands,  flowers,  feathers, 
banners  and  streamers;  and,  finallv,  that  the 
bull-fighters  have  determined  to  show  in  their 
performance,  that  they  are  worthy  of  the 
appreciation  and  applause  which  the  public 
have  awarded  to  tlieiii. 


I>.indi.'rillero. 

The  eight  bulls  will  be  from  the  ganaderias 
fjllowing  :  — 

Two  bulls  from  \.\\(t  gamuliria  of  His  Excel- 
lency, the  Dukt'  of  A'cragua,  near  Madrid;  ! 
two  from  that  of  Don  Vicente  Martinez;  two 
from  that  of  His  Excellency,  Sr.  Don  Rafael 
LallUte  ;  one  from  that  of  Don  Antonio  Miura  ; 
one  from  that  of  Don  Joaipiin  Concha  Sierra. 

Bf  T.   FiGlITKRS.  I 

PiCADORlis.  For  the  first  four  bulls,  Juan,  ' 
Antonio  Mondejar  and  Jose 
Calderon  ;  and  for  the  last  four, 
Ramon  Agujetas  and  Manuel 
Calderon.  There  will  be  two  '■ 
reserves  of  picadorcs  should  necessity  require 
them.  j 


EsPADAS.     Cuyetano    Sanz,    Francisco  .\r- 

jona,  .md  Reyes,  and  Salvador 

Sanchez. 

.SupernumeraryEspada.  Angel  Fernandez. 

The  order  of  entrance   of  the   bulls  will    be 

settled  in  the  ring  on  the  day  of  the  exhibition, 

at  half  past  eleven  o'clock.     The   tickets  for 

the  forenoon,  at  four  rcales  (twenty  cents),  fcr 

sale  at  eleven  o'clock. 

The  usual  care  taken  against  accidents.  As 
previously  announced,  no  dogs  will  be  used; 
but  fire  bandcrillas  will  be  substituted  for 
bulls  which  will  not  fight  at  the  call  of  the 
Authorities.  No  more  bulls  than  those  an- 
nounced will  be  provided. 

The  prices  of  ail  seats  will  be  the  same  as 
those  of  previous  exhibitions.  All  except 
children  at  the  breast  will  be  required  to  pur- 
chase tickets;  and  the  public  are  notified  that 
no  tickets  will  be  exchanged  at  the  office, 
except  in  case  of  postponement;  and  no 
checks  will  be  given  to  ^--o  out.  Ticket  Office, 
No.  24  Calla  de  Alcala.  will  be  opened  Fritiav 
and  Saturday,  from  10  A.  M.  till  night,  and 
Sund.ay  from  the  same  hour  until  3  P.  M. 

Doors  open  at  i  o'clock.  The  performance 
will  commence  precisely  at  3  o'clock.  The 
Hospital  Band  will  perform  at  tiieopeninn,  and 
during  the  intervals." 

As  this  was  a  gala  day,  the  Calla  dc  Alcala, 
the  street  leading  from  the  Piicrta  del  Sol,  or 
principal  square  of  the  city,  from  whic:\  radi- 
ate several  of  the  great  avenues  of  th  ■  city, 
was  lillcd  with  a  crowd  of  people,  most  of 
whom  were  men.  The  tickets  had  been 
largely  taken  up  by  sjieculators,  who  ,vere  \,^^i- 
dliiig  them  out  on  the  street  at  about  twenty- 
five  percent,  advance,  ■'•houting  vigorously  as 
they  announced  their  wares.  We  paid  a 
dollar  and  a  quarter  for  one  of  the  best  seats 
••  -a  tne  shade,"  though  the  less  eligible  seats 
could  be  bought  for  a  half  or  a  quarter  of  this 
price.  We  reached  the  I'laza  dr  Toros  ii 
good  tiin>-.  and  obtained  a  cushion -d  seat, 
near  enough  to  see  all  the  finer  points  of  the 
national  spectacle.  The  ring  was  filled  witl: 
men  walking  about,  chatting,  and  smoking  — 
we  never  saw  a  Spaniard  who  did  not  smoke. 
Everything  was  quiet  and  orderly;  ami  the 
audience  seemed  to  be  composed  of  intelligent 
and  respectable  people.  At  a  signal  made 
with  a  nourish  of  trumpets,  a  couple  of  officials 
dressed  in  black,  and  mounted  on  better  horses 
than  \\\\i  ficadores  ride,  entered  the  ring,  and 
the  people  slowly  retired  from  il.  The  two 
horsemen,  who  are  supposed  to  be  soldiers 
of  the  civil  t,'iiard,  rode  very  ileliberatelv  across 
and  around  the  ring,  making  no  deinunstia- 


i 


A    BULL-FIGHT    IN    MADRID. 


20I 


mncisco  Ar- 
nJ  Salvador 

1  Fernandez. 
)ulls  will  be 
e  exiiibition, 
;   tickets  for 

ty  cents),  fcr 

:idents.  As 
ill  be  used ; 
itituted  for 
:  call  of  the 
1  those  an- 

he  same  as 
All  except 
red  to  pur- 
lotified  that 

the  office, 
t;  and  no 
icket  Office, 
•nod  Friday 

niirht,  and 

1  P.  M. 
'erfonnance 
Mock.     The 
peniiiL;,  and 

f  (fc  A/c<i/ii, 

(fi'l  So/,  or 
ivhic:'  radi- 
of  til  city, 
e.    nil  st  of 

had  been 
o  ,vere  p^vi- 
Jiit  twenty- 
^orously  as 
Ve    paiil    a 

best  seats 
gihie  scats 
liter  of  this 
17  Tor  OS  i  •> 
ion>d  seat, 
ints  of  the 

filled  wife 
siiiokiny;  — 
not  smoke. 
>•;   ami    the 

inteiliffcnt 
:,mal  made 
!  of  officials 
itter  hoisLS 

2  rin:j,  and 
.  The  two 
)e  soldiers 
iteiv  acro'-s 
ieinuntttia- 


1 


tions  of  any  kind,  till  the  people  had  all  got 
over  the  fence  and  taken  their  places  in  the 
amphitheatre.  The  seats  of  the  spectators  are 
arranged  on  inclined  planes,  so  '.hat  all  of 
them  command  a  fair  view  of  the  scene.  Be- 
tween the  ..-ena  and  the  seats  of  the  people 
is  an  open  space  for  the  use  of  the  bull-tight- 
ers;  thougii  not  a  few  "loafers"  invade  it. 
Over  the  partition  which  separates  this  space 
from  the  spectators,  a  rope  is  extended  around 
the  entire  circle,  to  prevent  the  bull  from  leap- 
ing in  among  them,  as  he  sometimes  attempts 
to  do;  for  he  not  unfrequently  jumps  over  the 
fence  into  the  intervening  space.  On  the 
pr-tition  next  to  the  ring  is  nailed  a  ledge  of 
wood,  by  which  the  operators  are  enabled 
eiisilv  to  jump  over  the  fence  when  closely 
pursued  by  the  bull.  There  are  four  entrances 
with  double  doors,  opening  inward  to  the 
ring. 

At  another  flourish  of  trumpets,  one  o( 
these  entrances  is  opened,  and  all  who  are  to 
take  part  in  Ihc/ioin'o/i  march  into  the  ring, 
and  pay  their  respects  to  the  authorities  in 
cliarge  of  the  performance.  Some  of  these 
buU-fighters  are  paid  large  sums  for  their 
services,  and  are  men  of  great  distinction 
among  the  people.  A  bull-ligiit  in  Madrid 
or  Seville  costs  about  two  thou.aiul  dollars. 
The  performers  are  divided  into  four  classes; 
the  most  important  and  distinguished  of  which 
are,  the  cs/xiifiis  (from  cs/«tcla,  a  sword),  who 
kill  the  bull.  They  arc  the  masters  of  their  art ; 
and  their  photographs  are  for  sale  in  the 
principal  cities.  They  arc  men  of  great  skill 
and  courage,  having  a  decided  genius  for  their 
business.  They  come  up  from  the  lower  class 
of  performers,  without  necessarily  passing 
through  all  the  regular  grades.  They  are 
paid  from  two  hundred  and  fifty  to  three  hun- 
dred dollars  for  an  afternoon's  work ;  and  two 
or  three  of  them  are  employed  for  each  per- 
formance. 

The  second  class  are  the  baiulcrillcro$,  who 
receive  from  fifty  to  seventy-live  dollars  for  a 
single  performance.  Their  name  comes  from 
bamlcrilla,  a  stick  about  three  feet  long, 
adorned  with  bright-colored  ribbons,  in  the 
end  of  which  is  a  dart  with  fangs,  which 
spring  out  when  thrust  into  the  shoulders  of 
the  bull,  so  that  it  cannot  be  drawn  out. 

The  third  class  are  W\(i  ficadorcs,  who  receive 
about  one  hundred  dollars  for  their  services 
on  each  occasion.  They  are  regarded  as 
drunkards  and  "  scalliwags,"  but  are  paid 
more  than  the  banderillcrox,  because  they  are 
nuvNOOsed  to  incur  greater  peril  at  the  conflict. 
The  fourth  class  are  the  c/iulos,  .vho  are  paid 


from  fifteen  to  twenty  dollars.  They  are  men 
selected  for  their  skill  and  activity;  for  their 
business  is  to  enrage  l!ie  bull,  and  to  decoy 
him  from  others  when  they  are  too  closely 
pressed. 

All  the  actors  of  the  several  classes  marched 
or  rode  solemnly  into  the  ring,  and  made  their 
obeisance  to  ''■  La  Atitofidad compctcnic."  The 
procession  was  followed  by  three  mules  har- 
nessed abreast,  and  gayly  decorated  with  rib- 
bons. After  the  performers  had  paid  their  re- 
spects to  the  "  powers  that  be,"  all  of  them 
retired  except  a  couple  of  ficadorcs,  and  sev- 
eral chulos.    The  former  are  mounted  on  the 


Pic.ulor. 

diseased  old  horse...  which  are  blindfolded, 
when  the  fight  begins.  They  are  gayly 
dressed  in  bright  colors,  as  in  the  engraving. 
Their  legs  seem  to  be  disproportionately  large, 
and  very  stifl",  as  though  they  had  all  been 
seized  with  the  gout.  They  are  boarded  and 
stulTed  to  meet  the  onslaught  of  the  bull.  If 
the  enraged  animal  should  happen  to  unhorse 
the  picador,  he  is  unable  to  get  up  alone, 
and  the  other  combatants  must  lift  him  from 
the  ground  and  put  him  on  his  horse.  The 
chtt'.os  are  provided  with  banners  of  red  and 
yellow,  which  have  the  appearance  of  large 
mantles. 

At  an     "'er  signal,  after  the  two  ficadores 
have  stationed  themselves  on  opposite  sides 


wmmmmmmmttmttt 


„A^.fa. 


202 


A    BULL-FIGHT    IN    MADRID. 


of  the  arena,  with  poised  lances,  one  of  them 
being  near  the  gate  by  which  tlic  bull  is  to 
enter,  the  doors  are  thrown  wide  open.  El 
toro  has  been  thorned  and  vexed,  and  stirred 
lip  to  the  highest  degree  of  fury  in  his  pen, 
and  in  this  condition  he  rushes  into  the  ring, 
intent  upon  wreaking  his  vengeance  upon  his 
tormentors,  "or  any  other  man."  Tiie //(•«- 
tioy  near  him  first  attracts  his  attention,  and 
he  "  goes  for  him."  Dropping  his  head  so 
t!iat  his  horns  are  brought  to  bear  on  the  ob- 
ject aimed  at,  tlie  bull  makes  a  spring  at  the 
horse  and  rider.  Tht^  />icii<lor  receives  liimon 
his  spear,  which  wounds  the  animal,  and  turns 
him  oft".  If  the  bull  is  mad  enough,  ho  would 
make  an  end  of  horse  and  rider  at  this  point; 
but  a  chulo  flourishes  the  banner  in  his  face, 
and  draws  him  otV.  It  is  a  ride  of  the  game 
that  the  stupid  brute  will  always  rush  ujion 
the  red  cloth.  He  goes  for  that  when  it  is 
shown,  and  not  lor  man  or  horse. 


A  Felt  of  a  Chulo. 

Having  relieved  the  first  picador,  the  cliiilo 
jumps  over  the  fence,  and  then  the  bull  sees  the 
second //a;(?(;;- on  the  other  side.  lie  rushes 
upon  him,  and  to  gratify  the  audience,  he  is 
permitted  to  gore  the  horse,  wl.ich  he  some- 
limes  does  so  etlectually  as  to  kill  the  steed, 
and  "  spill  "  the  rider.  Hut  the  cliulos  in  the 
interest  of  the  contractor  do  not  often  permit 
this  to  be  done,  but  by  the  adroit  use  of  the 
banners  call  olT  the  bull  from  his  prey. 

Ill  the  assault  upon  the  second //crt^/o;-  in 
this  fight,  the  flank  of  the  horse  was  ripped  up. 
and  his  entrails  protruded,  whereat  the  people 
yelled  their  applause.  The  game  with  the 
bull  was  continued  for  a  few  moments  by  the 
cbiilos,  who  liiretl  him  from  one  part  of  the 
ring  to  another  with  their  banners,  often  being 


MMIi 


obliged  to  jump   over  the  fence  to  escape  his 
horns. 

After  this  play  had  continued  for  a  time, 
a  signal  with  the  trumpets  brought  the  btinde- 
rillcios  into  the  ring,  armed  with  the  imple- 
ments of  their  office.  One  of  them  engages 
the  attention  of  the  bull,  and  when  the  furious 
animal  comes  at  him,  with  his  head  dropped 
down  so  as  to  transfi.v  him  on  his  horns,  he 
dexterously  thrusts  the  two  darts  into  his 
shoulders,  and  escapes  r.s  best  he  may.  This 
is  really  one  of  the  most  daring  and  skilful 
feats  of  the  performance,  for  the  Imndci-illero, 
with  a  dart  in  e.nch  hand,  has  no  banner  with 
which  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  bull. 
He  '•  faces  the  music,"  and  \f  he  fails  to  plant 
the  baiidcrilliis  in  the  bull,  his  chances  of 
escape  are  small.  When  he  has  achieved  his 
dillicult  feat,  the  cliiilos:  take  the  bull  in  hand 
again,  and  tease  him  for  a  moment  more. 

At  another  signal  one  of  the  csfadas  makes 
his  appearance  in  the  ring.     Though  the  bull 
may  be   mar  him,  the  man   is  cool,  dignified, 
and  self-possessfd.     He  marches  directly  to  a 
position  in  front  of  the  authorities,   removes 
his  cap,  and'  declares,    in   lofty   speech,    that, 
"  in  the  name  of  the  good  city  of  Madrid  and 
of  the   people    there   assembled,   and   for   the 
benefit   of  the  (General   Hospital,  he  will  kill 
the  bull,  or  be  killed  in  the  attempt  to  do  so." 
This  speech  is  varied  at  times,  and  the  cspada 
asks  permission  to  kill  the  bull,  and  promises 
to  perform  h  is  part  in  a  manner  which  shall 
do  honor  to   the   jieople  of  Madrid.     Having 
made   his    address,  he   swings   his   right  arm 
around   behind    him,  tossing  his  cap  over  his 
left    shoulder    into   the  am]ihitheatre    among 
the  spectators.     With  a  Toledo  blade  in  one 
hand,  and  a  small  red  banner  in  the  other,  he 
begins  to  discharge    the   duiy  he  has  agreed, 
with  so  much  flourish,  to  perform.     Attracting 
the  attention  of  the  bull  with  a  red  flag,  which 
is  the  best  calculated  to  excite  the  resentment 
of  the  beast,   he   froKcs  with  him   for  a  time, 
displaying  the   utmost  skill  and  dexterity  in 
warding    off  an    assault.     When    the    "bull 
makes  a   dive   at   him,"  he  springs  one  side, 
and  doubles   on    him.     No  one    assists    him; 
but  lie  incurs  all  the  jieril  by  himself.     When 
he  distinguishes  himself,  the  people  not  only 
applaud   furiously,   but   throw  their  hats  into 
the  arena;  thus  giving  .i   key  to   the  common 
slang.  "Take  my  hat,"  when  any  one  has  done 
a  big  thing.       If  the  feat  is  emphatically  bril- 
liant, a  shower  of  cigars,  and  even  a  few  silver 
pesos  mingled  with  them,  will  be  thrown   into 
the  ring.     He  bows  his  acknowledgments,  and 
the  cliulos  pick  up  the  gifts  and  hand  thenl 


1 


A    BULL-FIGIIT    IN     MADRID. 


203 


ts 


escape  liis 

for  a   time, 
the  baiide- 
tlie   ini|)lc- 
m  engaifcs 
the  furious 
1   dropped 
horns,  he 
into  his 
ii:iy.      This 
•Tin)   skih'ul 
(itiifcn'lkfo, 
aiiner  with 
tlie    bull. 
N  to  plant 
;hances    of 
•hieved  liis 
111!  in   hand 
more. 
iifds  makes 
i,'li  tlic  bull 
.  di<,niified, 
lirectly  to  a 
s,   removes 
eech.   that, 
kladrid  and 
tid   for   the 
le  will  kill 
t  to  do  so."' 
the  cspada 
d  promise's 
vhich   shall 
I.     Ilavinj,' 
right  aim 
;ip  over  his 
tre    amon<f 
«de  in  one 
e  other,  he 
as  agretad. 
Attracting 
flag,  which 
escntment 
3r  a  time, 
-'xterity  in 
he    "bull 
one  side, 
'ists    him; 
If.     When 
not  only 
hats  into 
common 
'.  has  done 
L-allv  bril- 
few  silver 
own  into 
lents,  and 
uid  tnem 


over  to  him.  Thedecisive  moment  approaches, 
nnd  he  prepares  to  make  an  end  of  the  fight. 
Holding  out  the  banner  in  his  left  hand,  ex- 
tended across  his  breast,  the  cspada  approaches 
his  intended  victim.  The  wrathful  bull  rushes 
upon  the  obnoxious  color,  and,  as  he  drops 
his  head,  the  eapada,  reaching  over  the  horns 
of  the  animal,  plunges  the  sword  deep  down 
between  the  shoulders,  aiming  at  the  heart. 
Sometimes  he  kills  him  instantlv.  and  some- 
times he  fails  to  do  the  deadly'  job.  Fair  play 
is  one  of  the  elements  of  the  game  ;  and  if  the 
blow  is  not  fatal,  the  esfiada  must  recover  his 
weapon,  if  he  had  not  already  done  so,  and  try 
again  with  the  same  one.  Wc  saw  a  bull 
stabbed  three  times  before  he  was  killetl.  Me 
cannot  be  struck,  either,  when  he  is  down. 


One  of  the  three  we  saw  killed,  leaped  over 
the  inner  fence  after  he  was  stabbed,  causing 
a  tremendous  commotion  among  the  "  loafers  " 
there  assembled.  He  was  driven  back  into 
the  ring,  and  a  second  lunge  at  his  heart  killed 
him.  Sometimes  the  bull  is  a  coward,  or,  for 
some  reason,  will  not  fight,  and  is  not  "  game." 
The  bull-fighters  have  no  mercy  upon  such, 
and  torment  him  with  fireworks,  and  if  he 
prove  obstinately  peaceful,  hunt  him  down 
with  dogs.  The  bull  is  sure  to  be  killed  in  the 
end;  there  is  no  immunity  from  his  fate,  how- 
ever courageous  or  however  cowardly  he  may 
be.  As  soon  as  he  di'ops,  a  cacfictcro  plunges 
a  short  dagger  in  the  spine  of  the  vanciuisln 
beast,  to  make  sure  that  he  is  dead  ;  the  gayly 
harnessed  mule-team  is  attached  to  him,  and 
he  is  dragged  ignominiously  out  of  the  ring,  to 
be  cut  up  and  sold  for  beef.  One  gateway  is 
no  sooner  closed  upon  the  victim  of  one  light, 
than  another  opens  for  the  admission  of  the 
second,  and  the  scene  is  re-enacted  with  some 
sl'ght  variations.  A  chiiloy  braver  and  more 
ptiibitious  than  the  rest,  seeks  to  distinguish 


himself,  and  performs  some  daring  feat,  such 
as  jumping  upon  the  back  of  the  bull,  leaping 
over  him,  or  seizing  him  by  the  horns.  Such 
acts  always  win  apphui<.c,  and  the  daring 
fellow  believes  he  had  taken  the  first  step 
towards  being  an  cspudtt. 

In  Toledo,  a  few  days  after  the  bull-fight 
we  have  described,  we  met  a  beautiful,  highlv- 
cducated,  and  refined  American  lady,  the  wife 
of  a  naval  ofiiccr,  who  rather  startled  us  with 
the  information  that  she  had  attended  this 
particular  corrida.  She  expressed  her  opinion 
in  regard  to  it  with  a  snap  of  the  eye  and  a 
vigor  of  diction  which  jileased  us  not  a  little. 
Her  sympathies  were  all  with  the  bull,  and  for 
tlie  poor  old  horses.  She  declared  that  noth- 
ing would  have  pleased  her  so  much  as  to  see 
one  or  more  of  the  bull-fightcrs  tossed  in  the 
air  by  the  animal.  I'niloubtodly  there-  is  a 
great  deal  of  skill  anil  science,  and  even  cour- 
age. displa\ed  by  the  lidiiidorcs.  but  the  bull  is 
overmatched.  He  has  no  chance  at  all.  If 
his  nature  could  be  so  changed  that  he  would 
'•go  for"  the  men,  instead  of  the  red  banner, 
we  fancy  that  bull-fights  would  soon  be  out 
of  fashion. 


204 


YACHTS    AND    YACHTING. 


I 


YACHTS  AND  YACHTING. 

BY  OLIVER  OPTIC. 

OUR  boys  are  inarvellously  like  other 
boys,  and  therefbre  desire  to  know  more 
ubuut  boats  and  boating.  The  yachting  season 
has  already  commenced,  and  promises  to  be 
one  of  the  most  interesting  &rd  exciting  for 
years.  We  present  to  our  readers  this  month 
a  full  page  engraving  of  a  lively  yacht  scene, 
which  will  doubtless  wake  up  the  imagination 
of  our  boys.  The  sloop  yacht  in  the  foreground 
is  doing  her  prettiest,  and  appears  to  be  log- 
ging at  least  ten  knots.  The  picture  has  a 
regular  salt-water  swash,  and  conveys  a  capital 
idea  of  a  first-class  yacht,  "  with  a  fresh  breeze 
and  a  white-cap  sea." 

Sailing  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  exhila- 
rating sportF  in  the  whole  catalogue  of  amuse- 
ments; and  when  we  consider  how  kindly 
full-grown  men,  even  those  who  have  spent 
half  a  century  of  years  among  the  vanities  and 
frivolities  of  this  earth,  take  to  it,  we  cannot 
wonder  that  the  youngermembers  of  the  male 
persuasion  desire  to  taste  its  joys. 

But,  whatever  may  be  said  of  its  exciting 
pleasures,  sailing  is  a  dangerous  amusement 
for  inexperienced  persons,  be  they  men  or 
boyp.  We  protest  most  earnestly  against 
young  men,  without  knowledge,  skill,  or  ex- 
perience, being  trusted,  or  trusting  themselves, 
to  handle  a  sail-boat.  They  should  have  skip- 
pers to  sail  thfcircraft,  until  they  have  acquired 
the  requisite  skill  and  power  to  manage  the 
boat.  This  skill  and  knowledge  apper- 
tain not  only  to  the  boat,  but  to  several  other 
conditions.  The  boatman  should  be  reason- 
ably weather-wiKC,  so  that  he  can  see  when  a 
squall  or  storm  is  coming.  He  should  have 
some  idea  of  the  power  of  big  waves,  so  as 
not  to  swamp  his  craft  in  the  trougli  of  a  sea. 
He  ought  to  learn  the  "  rules  of  the  road,"  so 
as  to  avoid  collision.  The  eye  and  the  ear 
should  be  schooled,  so  that  the  former  may  be 
tolerably  accurate  in  the  measurement  of  dis- 
tances, and  the  latter  may  give  warning  of 
danger  in  the  night  or  in  a  fog.  Practice,  and 
the  companionship  of  well-trained  boatmen, 
while  actually  managing  a  boat,  are  all  that 
are  needed.  No  taking  of  lessons,  or  formal 
studying  of  the  subject,  will  enable  one  to 
acquire  the  art;  but  it  will  come  of  itself  from 
natural  observation  and  experience. 

There  are  some  things  which  maybe  learned 
from  books  and  verbal  explanations,  but  the 
one  thing  needful  in  sailing  a  boat  will  not 
come  of  reading  or  listening.  We  beg  that  no 
young  man  will  think  he  can  become  a  skipper 


by  reading  this,  or  any  other  article,  or  all 
that  has  ever  been  written  on  the  subject.  Wc 
can  give  the  names  of  the  various  spars,  sails, 
and  pieces  of  rigging  in  a  yacht,  and  explain 
the  theory  of  sailing  a  boat,  but  we  can  no 
more  fit  a  boy  to  sail  a  yacht  than  a  four-year- 
old  could  be  prepared  for  running  a  locomotive 
by  showing  him  the  picture  of  the  machine. 

Ordinary  yachts  are  either  sloops  or 
schooners,  the  former  having  only  one  mast, 
the  latter  two.  Both  have  a  bowsprit,  but  a 
one-masted  boat,  without  one,  the  mast 
stepped  well  forward,  is  said  to  be  "cat- 
rigged." 

Figure  I.  represents  a  sloop.  The  low- 
er part  is  called  the  hull.  The  spar  set 
nearly  perpendicular  is  the  mast.  A  schoon- 
er has  two  masts,  distinguished  by  the  names 
fore  and  main;  the  latter  word  meaning 
principal,  and  not  farthest  aft.  It  is  al- 
ways the  larger  of  the  two.  In  ships  and 
barks,  having  three  masts,  the  middle  one 
is  the  main-mast,  which  is  the  largest  and  tall- 
est of  the  three;  and  the  hindmost  is  called 
the  mizzen-mast.  A"  is  the  bowsprit.  In  the 
larger  schooner  yachts  another  spar,  extend- 
ing still  farther  forward,  and  at  the  end  of 
which  another  sail  is  fastened,  is  called  the 
jib-boom.  A  rope  or  chain,  running  from  X 
down  to  the  cutwater  —  which  is  just  wiiat  the 
word  indicates  —  is  called  a  bob-stay.-  rf  e  is 
the  boom,  generally  called  the  main-boom. 
ff  ffis  the  gatr.  The  end  next  to  the  mast  is 
called  the  throat;  the  other  end,  the  peak.  The 
upper  part  of  the  mast,  which  is  sometimes  a 
separate  spar,  spliced  upon  the  lower  mast,  is 
the  top-mast. 

Near  the  water,  r  is  the  rudder;  and  the 
stick  attached  to  it  above  the  rail,  or  highest 
part  of  the  hull,  is  the  tiller,  by  which  the 
rudder  is  turned.  In  the  larger  yachts,  and 
even  in  some  small  ones,  a  wheel,  either  hori- 
zontal or  perpendicular,  is  used  instead  of  a 
tiller.  T/ic  helm  is  a  term  applied  to  the 
whole  steering  apparatus,  whatever  it  may 
be.  "  To  take  the  helm,"  is  to  grasp  the  tiller, 
wheel,  or  *iller-ropcs ;  it  is  steering  the  boat, 
however  it  may  be  done.  "  To  carry  a  weather 
helm  "  indicates  that  the  craft  has  a  tendency 
to  throw  her  head  up  into  the  wind,  and  the 
tiller  must  be  turned  towards  the  weather  side, 
or  side  from  which  the  wind  comes,  to  counter- 
act this  tendency.  "A  lee  helm"  is  just  the 
opposite,  and  is  a  dangerous  propensity  in  a 
yacht. 

Standing  rigging  consists  of  shrouds,  stays, 
and  other  parts  which  are  not  moved.  Run- 
ning rigging  consists  of  halyards,  sheets,  and 


JtUx 


YACHTS    AND    YACHTING. 


205 


tide,  or  all 
ubject.  Wc 
spars,  sails, 
and  explain 

we  can  no 
a  four-year- 
i  locomotive 
machine. 

sloops  or 
y  one  mast, 
sprit,  but  a 

the    mast 

0  be   "cat- 

The   low- 

le  spar    set 

A  schoon- 

Y  the  names 

d    meaning 

It    is    al- 

1  ships  and 
middle  one 
est  and  tall- 
est is  called 
irit.  In  the 
)ar,  extend- 
the  end  of 

called  the 
ing  from  A* 
ist  wiiat  the 
tay.-  d  e  is 
nain-boom. 
the  mast  is 
;  peak.  The 
lometimes  a 
ver  mast,  is 

;r;  and  the 
or  highest 
which  the 
^-nchts,  and 
either  hori- 
nstead  of  a 
lied  to  the 
ver  it  may 
ipthe  tiller, 
ig  the  boat, 
y  a  weather 
a  tendency 
nd,  and  the 
eather  side, 
to  counter- 
'  is  just  the 
lensity  in  a 

ouds,  stays, 
ved.  Run- 
sheets,  and 


Figure  I. 


Other  parts  used  in  hoisting,  lowering,  and 
trimming  sails.  The  rope  from  G  to  A' is  the 
jib-stay,  on  which  che  jib  runs  up  nnd  down. 
That  extending  from  the  top-mast  to  d<  at  the 
outei  end  of  the  main-boom,  //  //,  is  the  top- 
ping lift,  used  to  hold  up  the  boom.  Stays 
are  ropes  used  to  support  masts  or  topmasts. 
In  square-rigged  vessels,  the  fore  and  al"t  st.iys 
lead  from  the  tops  of  the  masts  or  topmasts  to 
other  masts,  or  to  the  bowsprit,  and  back-stays 
from  the  topmasts  down  to  the  sides.  In 
small  craft  any  rope  used  to  support  the  mast 
is  called  a  stay.  In  schooners  the  rone  lead- 
ing from  one  mast  head  (not  topmast)  to  tlie 
other  parallel  to  the  deck  is  the  spiring  stay. 
A  loose  rope  under  the  bowsprit,  or  under  that 
part  of  the  boom  extending  beyond  the  hull,  is 
a  foot-rope,  for  the  men  stand  upon  in  loos- 
ing and  furling  the  jib  and  mainsail. 

The  rope  attached  to  the  jib  at  G,  by  which 
the  sail  is  hoisted,  is  the  jib-halyard  —  used 
in  the  singular  or  plural.  They  lead  down  to 
the  deck  on  the  starboard  side;  flying-jib  hal- 
yards on  the  port  side.  At  m  are  the  jib- 
sheets,  usually  a  pair  of  them,  to  trim  the  sail 
on  either  side.  The  main-sail  is  hoisted  by  two 
sets  of  halyards.  The  blocks  and  rope  abaft 
the  mast,  above  g,  are  the  throat-halyards, 
•which  always  lead  down  on  the  starboard 
side;  at  /  are  the  peak-halyards,  which  lead 
down  on  the  port  side.  The  little  marks  across 
the  mainsail,  i,  i;  2,  2;  3,  3,  are  reef-points. 


A  rope  is  sewed  into  the  edge  of  the  sail  all 
around,  called  the  bolt-rope.  At  1,2,  and  3, 
on  each  side,  arc  criiitxtcs,  or  holes,  through 
wMch  a  rope,  called  a  recf-pendcnt,  is  passed, 
if.  hauling  the  part  of  the  sail  to  be  reefed 
down  to  the  boom.  The  reef-points  are  short 
pieces  of  rope,  going  tiirough  the  sail,  the  ends 
hanging  down  on  each  side.  When  the  main- 
r-ail  is  to  be  reefed,  they  are  tied  under  the 
lower  edge  of  the  sail,  thus  confining  a  portion 
of  the  sail  in  a  oil  on  the  boom.  One.  two, 
or  three  reefs  may  be  taken,  as  indicated  by 
the  figures.  When  three  are  taken,  the  sail  is 
said  to  be  close-reefed.  A  line  of  reef-points 
is  shown  on  the  jib,  which  arc  seldom  used  on 
small  craft.  In  the  larger  yachts,  the  part  of 
the  jib  below  the  reef-points  is  often  a  separate 
piece,  which  can  be  taken  off  at  pleasure,  and 
is  called  the  bonnet.  The  tackle  under  the 
boom  near  the  tiller  is  the  main-sheet,  which 
mav  be  let  out  till  the  boom  is  at  right  angles 
with  the  hull. 

The  diagram  8,  in  Figure  II.,  shows  the  posi- 
tions of  the  boom.  In  sai'ing  before  the  wind, 
the  sheet  may  be  let  out  till  the  boom  is  at  a 
or  c,  on  either  side.  In  a  schooner,  going 
exactlv  before  the  wind,  the  fore-sail  is  some- 
times let  out  on  one  side,  and  the  main-sail  on 
the  other;  she  is  then  "wing  and  wing."  A 
sloop  is  wing  and  wing  when  the  jib  is  trimmed 
on  one  side  and  the  main-sail  on  the  other. 
When  the  wind  comes  from  the  direction  e,  or 


2o6 


YACHTS    AND    YACHTING, 


I  i 


oil  tlic  beam,  the  boom  is  at  h.    In 

this  position  slie  is  said  to  be  on 

the  port  tack,  the  wind  lieirii;  on 

the  |)orl  bi'aiii,  or  to  liave  her  port 

tacks    aboard.      When    the    wind 

comes  from  a,  the  Ixiom   is  at  d, 

and  slie  is  on  the  starlioard  taek, 

or  has  her  starboaril  tacks  aboard. 

%\'hen  the  boom   i.s  at  c,  or  a  very 

little   anfjlinjj   either  wav,  she    is 

close-hauled,  or  by  the  wind,  and 

is  sailini,'  as  near  as  slie  can  in  the 

direction    I'rom    wliich    tlie    wind 

conus. 

The  arrows  at  the  bottom  of  the 

tiijiMe  represent  the   direction  of 

the  wind:  the  craft  at   I   is  bclbrc 

the  wind.     To  briny;  lier  into  po- 
sition 2,  put  the  helm  to  port,  and 

haul  on  the  jib  and  main  sheets. 

She  is  now  on  the  starboard  tack, 

.L,'oinj;  free,  with  the  wind  on  the 

quarter.     To  work  her  into  posi- 
tion 3,  witii  the  wind  on  the  beam, 

repeat  the  same  operation.    Then, 

to  brinjj  her  up  into  the  wind,  as 

in  position  4,  port  the  helm  and  haul  on  the 

main-sheet,  till  the  boom  comes  from  a  b  \.o 
b  b.  If  alone,  haul  in  the  jib-sheet  after  the 
main-sheei.  If  the  breeze  is  fresh  and  the 
yacht  larye,  it  may  be  necessary  to  spill  the 
sails,  that  is,  throw  the  boat's  head  up  into  the 
wind  till  the  sails  tlap;  this  will  make  it  easy 
work,  for  it  is  difficult  to  pull  against  the  whole 
force  of  the  wind.  In  positions  2,  3,  and  4, 
putting  the  helm  to  the  port  side  is  putting  it 
dorvH,  that  is,  away  from  the  wind.  In  posi- 
tion 5,  starboard  is  doivii. 

Caution.  In  positions  i,  2,  3,  or  4,  the 
helm  should  never  be  put  to  starboard,  or  up, 
even  in  a  light  wind,  for  it  will  gybe  the  boat, 
which  is  a  very  dangerous  manoeuvre,  espe- 
cially for  unskilful  boatmen.  If  you  wish  to 
go  to  the  westward,  it  is  better  to  wear  entirely 
around,  that  is,  keep  the  helm  down,  or 
hard  a-lce,  till  the  sail  shakes;  then  the  boom 
will  go  over  without  danger. 

The  boat  in  position  5  is  close-hauled  and 
beating  to  windward,  the  line  A'  being  I'.er 
course,  though  a  good  yacht  will  lie  up  to  the 
wind  closer  than  this  line  indicates.  Her 
course  to  the  southward  ought  to  be  a  scries 
of  diagonals,  like  the  two  in  the  diagram.  At 
each  angle,  she  tacks.  At  position  6,  the 
skipper  puts  the  helm  down,  to  starboard,  or 
hard  a-lee.  The  manoeuvre  is  called  "  going 
in  sta.ys,"  or  tacking.     In  a  full-manned  yacht 


Figure  2. 

the  command  of  the  captain  is,  "  Ready 
about!"  or,  "Ready  to  go  in  stays  I  "  The 
main-sheet  usually  slips  over  on  an  iron  rod, 
called  a  traveller,  and  needs  no  attention  in 
tacking.  When  the  bowsprit  points  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  wind  comes,  or  a 
little  before,  all  the  sails  shake  and  flap.  The 
momentum  acquired  while  the  sails  were  still 
drawing  gives  her  steerage  w.iy,  and  she  con- 
tinues to  mind  her  helm,  till,  in  position  7,  the 
sails  begin  to  draw  on  the  other  side.  The 
jib-sheet  is  not  cast  off  till  the  sail  fills,  when 
the  skipper  says,  "  Draw,  jib,"  and  the  hands 
forward  let  off  the  weather,  and  haul  the  lee, 
sheet.  In  small  yachts,  the  jib-sheets  lead 
aft,  and  the  skipper  may  manage  them  him- 
telf.  The  manoeuvre  is  repeated  at  position 
4,  and  the  yacht  again  sails  in  the  direction  of 
the  first  diagonal. 

In  sailing  on  the  wind,  or  going  free,  the 
skipper  should  sit  on  the  weather  side,  so  that 
his  view  ahead  may  not  be  obstructed  by  the 
sails.  A  boat  going  free  gives  way  to  one  that 
is  by  the  wind,  or  close-hauled.  If  the  courses 
of  two  yachts  by  the  wind  threaten  a  collision, 
the  one  on  the  port  tack  must  give  way  to  the 
one  on  the  starboard  tack. 

No  one  but  a  fool  will  be  careless  and  reck- 
less in  a  sail-boat.  There  is  no  honor  or  glory 
in  fool-hardiness. 


0^ 

^ 

1 

is,  "  Ready 
:ays  I  "  The 
an  iron  rod, 
attention  in 
lints  in  the 
Mines,  or  a 
d  flap.  The 
Is  were  still 
ind  she  con- 
si  tion  7,  the 

side.  The 
1  fills,  when 
d  the  hands 
laul  the  lee, 
-sheets  lead 
a  them  him- 
I  at  position 

direction  of 

ig  free,  the 
side,  so  that 
icted  by  the 
1  to  one  that 
rthe  courses 
1  a  collision, 
;  way  to  tlie 

ss  and  reck- 
nor  or  glory 


i    V,'  A">'»iiSS\    lii.!','  '''I'll    '  I 

M 

i 


1 


r. ) 


HI  ^ 


I  ; 


,1  1 


t^u 


1 


LITTI.I-:     r.UIKDEKS. 


2  Or; 


1 


TjIE   LlTTLIi    liulLUliH. 


M 


LITTLE      BUILDERS. 

I.    BEAVERS. 

AM  was  not  the  fiivt  builder.  Lonij  be- 
torc  houses,  or  tents,  or  huts,  were  built, 
]ong  before  there  were  men  to  need  shelter, 
little  animals,  of  clilTerent  speeies,  made  tlieir 
inj^enions  dwellinii;s.  as  well  ada|)teii  lor  their 
wants  as  our  liouses  are  for  our  real  or  fancied 
necessities  and  conveniences. 

Long  before  man  built  dams  across  rivers 
or  brooks,  beavers,  with  womlerful  iiiirenii- 
ity,  maile  their  dams,  which  have  remaiiieil 
for  generations,  until  large  trees  have  grown 
upon  them,  and  they  have  become  permanent; 
ami  they  have  set  examples  of  diligence,  per- 
severance, and  care  which  men  might  jirolita- 
bly  imitate. 

In  the  Northern  and  Middle  States,  in 
marshy  localities,  or  wh.re  brooks  and  smsll 
rivers  tlow,  beaver  dams  or  beaver  meaiiows 
are  numerous,  but  the  builders  are  gone.  The 
gradual  "clearing"  of  the  country,  and  the 
zeal  of  the  hunters,  have  driven  them  north- 
ward and  westward,  until  now  they  are  verv 
scarce,  and  even  under  the  shelter  of  the  woods 
of  the  Rocky  Mourtain  region  they  are  few  in 
number. 

Beavers  are  sought  for  their  beautiful  fur, 
and  for  an  odorous  and  oily  brown  sub^^tance 
called  cdsioreum,  which  has  a  disagreeable 
smell  and  a  bitter  taste,  but  is  highly  valued 
by  perfumers  and  the  medical  profession. 
There  was  a  time  when  a  "beaver  hat"  Tvas 
beaver,  and  not  silk,  or  some  other  material; 
but  a  genuine  "  beaver"  would  be  a  costly 
14 


curiosity  in  these  ila^-s,  while  the  imitation 
answers  every  purpose  save  that  of  <lurabilit\ . 
The  fur  of  the  heaver  is  highly  valued,  anil 
therefore  the  hunters  sought  for  the  intelli- 
gent, ingenious,  and  industrious  animal  with 
great  zeal.  But  tlie  supply  was  ere  long  near- 
ly exhausted;  and,  as  is  usual  in  such  case>. 
man's  ingenuity  came  t  his  aid.  and  satisfac- 
tory substitutes  were  found.  Cti.t/or.  or  ctis/or 
hca-'cf,  as  applied  to  a  hat.  has  an  origin  plain 
to  be  seen.  It  has  been  said,  recently,  that  the 
use  of  material  other  than  fur  in  the  manut'ac- 
ture  of  hats  has  given  such  a  resjiite  to  the 
(lercelv-lumted  beaver,  that  they  are  reset- 
tling their  forsaken  haunt';,  and  may  again 
become  numerous. 

The  beaver  is  not  a  particularly  handsome 
animal.  Its  large  head,  snvUl  eyes,  cloven 
upper  lip,  long  and  wide  tail,  its  hind  feet, 
webbed  and  larger  than  the  lore  teet,  the  muz- 
zle projecting  a  little  beyond  the  jaws,  —  these 
characteristics  do  not  unite  in  making  an  ani- 
mal beautiful  to  the  sight,  and  only  illustrate 
the  fact  that  character  and  habits  in  animals, 
as  well  as  in  men,  are  not  always  to  be  known 
by  external  appearance.  The  beaver's  ears  are 
movable,  and  are  not  very  prominent;  and, 
when  the  animal  dives,  he  lays  them  close  to 
his  head,  and  thus  prevents  the  water  from 
entering. 

Many  and  wonderfid  stories  are  told  of  the 
habits  and  the  ingenuity  of  the  beaver;  but 
the  truth  is  sufficient,  without  exaggeration. 
It  is  a  social  animal — seems  to  understand 
the  practical  methods  and  vahK'  of  "  coopera- 
tion," and  exercises  a  judic'ous  choice  in  its 


.X         


3IO 


i.i'iri.K    nil  I.  i»i;u.s. 


Haunts  ok  ihk  Ukavek. 

d\vellin};-placL'.  Thu  daiii^  wliii:li  tlicv  build 
are  built  for  a  jiiirpose,  ami  inistakos  in  tlic 
'■civil  cn-^ini'i'iiiii;  "  are  apparently  unknown. 
Clear  rivers  anil  brooks,  and  sometimes  lakes, 
are  chosen  for  tlieir  habitations;  and,  wher- 
ever they  take  posM.>f,ion,  tliey  imnlC('■^toly 
set  at  work  to  adapt  the  place  to  all  their 
wants.  The  first  and  imperative  want  is  a 
lull  supply  of  water  at  all  seasons  of  the 
vear;  for  the  beaver  is  amphibious,  and  makes 
but  a  poor  piece  of  work  in  travelliiii;  on  the 
lann.  With  wonderful  instinct,  as  if  with  the 
precaution  of  reason,  they  build  dams  for  the 
purpose  of  raisiuLj  the  water  to  the  de--ired 
heijjht.  and  then  on  the  bank  they  construct 
their  rude  dwellings.  As  they  are  night  labor- 
ers, little  is  known,  by  actual  observation,  of 
their  manner  of  working;  but  it  is  easy  to 
judge  by  examination  of  the  results.  At  some 
distance  above  the  place  where  they  design  to 
build  the  dam,  they  cut  down  trees,  .,r;\l  Kt 
the  cmrent  bear  them  down  stream  towards 
the  situation ;  and  with  the  branches  and 
trunks,  cut  according  to  their  wishes  or  neces- 
sities, and  with  mud  and  stones,  they  grad- 
ually make  a  dam  which  etTectually  resists  the 
action  of  the  water.  With  true  engineering 
skill,  the  base  of  the  ilam  is  made  about  ten 
or  twelve  feet  wide  at  the  bottom,  ami  about 
two  feet  wide  at  the  top;  and,  as  in  process  of 
time  the  stream  brings  down  bushes,  and 
sticks,  and  mud,  &c..  which  lodge  on  the 
dam  and  become  a  part  of  it,  the  structure 
gains  solidity  and  strength;  and  of  course 
vegetation  starts  upon  it,  and  tlie  roots  of 
bushes  and  trees  crawl  down   into  the  inass, 


and  liold  it  tightly  in  position.  Wlien  tlie 
stream  is  siiallow,  and  the  luintil  slow,  tlie 
ilam  is  built  straight  across;  but  wluri\er 
ihe  current  is  strong,  the  ilaiii  is  curxeil,  with 
the  convex  Niile  up  the  stream,  so  that  a 
Ironger  resistance  shall  be  inaile  to  tin- 
I  u-hing  water.  Man's  ii.genuitv  and  scienn 
cannot  improve  upon  this. 

The  teeth  ol'  the  beaver  are  woiiilerlulh 
fitted  for  the  labor  of  cutting  trees;  the\  ;irv 
very  strong  and  very  sharp;  the  jaw-  jire  al-o 
remarkably  strong.  One  naturalist  sa\s  iIkii 
their  teeth  are  so  sharp,  anil  are  u-e<l  willi 
-ucli  skill,  that  a  tame  beaver  has  repcatiilh 
been  seen  to  take  a  ])otato  or  an  apple  in 
Ills  fore  paws,  sit  upon  his  hind  feet,  anil 
merely  by  pressing  Ihe  apple  against  his 
lower  incisors,  and  dexterously  changing  its 
position,  to  peel  it  a>  readily  as  if  done  by  a 
human  being  with  a  knife. 

In  building  a  dam.  the  logs  are  laiil  hori- 
zontally, and  kept  in  jilace  by  stones  and 
mud.  The\-  are  generally  six  or  seven  inches 
in  diameter,  but  sometimes  have  been  found 
as  large  as  eighteen  inches  through.  When 
it  is  remembered  that  ilams  have  been  foutui 
three  hundred  feet  in  length,  ten  or  twelve 
feet  wide  at  the  ba-e.  and  of  a  height  varying 
according  to  the  ilepth  of  the  water,  some  idea 
mav  be  had  of  the  patience  and  per.-everance 
of  these  model  builders.  The  beaver  disphns 
skill  in  selecting  and  cutting  trees.  Having 
found  one  in  the  right  place,  he  sits  upright, 
and  with  his  sharp  teeth  cuts  a  groove  com- 
pletely round  the  trunk,  and  then  widens  and 
deepens  it.  When  the  tree  is  nearly  cut  olV, 
as  seen  in  the  cut,  he  examines  it  carefully, 
and  calculates  in  what  direction  it  is  best  that 
it  should  fall;  he  then  goes  to  the  opposite 
side  and  biles  at  the  thin  support  until  the 
tree  conies  crashing  down.  Then  the  build- 
ers cut  it  into  pieces  about  a  yard  in  length, 
roll,  carrv.  tumble,  or  drag  them  to  and  into 
the  water,  and  load  them  with  stones  and 
earth  to  sink  and  hold  thein.  They  work 
heartily,  and  assist  each  other  in  the  most 
elllcient  manner. 

Before  placing  the  logs  in  proper  position, 
they  strip  olY  the  bark  and 
store  it  away  for  winter  pro 
vision ;  and  they  also  pro- 
\ide  an  additional  supply  by 
taking  the  small  branches, 
diving  with  them  to  the 
foundations  of  the  dam,  and 
carefully  fastening  them  to 
the  logs.  And  then,  in  win-  How  riii;  Ukav- 
ter  time,  when  a  fresh  sup-    i;r  cuts  aTkee. 


lOll.        W'lllMl     tlu- 

until  >l<)\v.  till' 

but   whori\iT 

is  iiirM'd.  with 

■iuii.    so    that    a 

IlliuU'     to    llic 

il_\    ami  sck'iui- 

irc    woiulcrliilh 

tri'is  :   tlii'v  ail.- 

(ic  jaws  arc  al-o 

iraiist  savs  Iliai 

I   arc   Used  Willi 

has  ri'piatrdh 

or   ail   appU'   In 

liiiul    I'l'it.    anil 

)k'    against    his 

!_)■  cliani,'in;4  its 

as   if  doiH'  l)_v  a 

s  aiv   laid  liori- 

hy   stones   ami 

or  seven  inches 

avc  iieen  found 

hroiijjli.     When 

lavc  been  found 

ten   or  t«c!\c 

I  liciybt  varviiii,' 

vater,  some  idea 

id  perseverance 

beuvcr  dispia\  s 

trees.      Ilavini; 

he  sits  uprij^ht. 

-  a  groove  coin- 

iheii  widens  and 

s  nearlv  cut  olf. 

nes   it  carcfuilv. 

)ii  it  is  best  that 

to  the  opposite 

i|)pt)rt   until   ihe 

riicii   the  build- 

\ard   in   lenijtli. 

lem   to  and   into 

vitli    stones   and 

11.     They    work 

ler    in    the  most 

proper  position, 


How  Till-:  Bk.w- 
■;ii  CUTS  A  Tree. 


I.IT'I'I.I"     r.|-  I  I.DKU.S, 


ail 


.  .1 


li:-''-4»i 


'^i)£^^ 


Beavers  cuTTi.Mi  L<nis. 

pl_\  of  food  is  wanted,  thev  liave  it  near  by 
ready  for  use.  Tiiev  are  especially  fond  of 
willows,  poplars,  elders,  and  birch  trees.  In 
summer  they  feed  upon  fish,  fruits,  and  plants. 
With  their  dam  securely  built,  they  have  a 
ifood  supply  of  water,  in  which  they  switn,  and 
work,  and  play,  and  the  closenes>  of  the  fur 
coals  they  wear,  the  jiaildle-like  tail,  and  the 
webbed  feet,  come  into  full  use. 

Beavers'  houses  are  rudely  built,  but  are 
sullicient  for  all  the  wants  of  their  occupants, 
and  are  used  only  in  winter  time.  There  are 
no  "spare  rooms"  or  "best  chambers,"'  no 
"parlors"  and  rooms  for  special  occasions; 
but  the  houses  are  always  of  the  suitablu  size 
for  the  number  of  occupants,  usually  three  or 
four  parents  and  six  or  eiifht  young  beavers. 
In  buildiiij,'  their  houses  the  beaver  takes  mud 
from  the  edije  of  the  bank,  and  stones  and 
wood,  and  carries  the  material  between  his 
fore-paws  and  chin,  and  placing  it  where  he 
wants  it.  turns  about  and  gives  it  a  hard  slap 
with  his  broad  tail.  They  seem  to  have  no 
other  design  than  to  build  a  strong  and  warm 
structure,  and  great  diligence  and  care  are 
exercised  in  accomplishing  tlse  task.  The 
partitions  in  these  houses,  which  some  writers 
speak  of,  are  simply  portions  of  the  main 
building,  which  the  sagacious  beaver  has  left 
to  support  the  roof,  similar  to  the  supports 
left  by  underground  miners.     Late  in  the  au- 


tumn, ueiier.illy  jiist  before  frosf,  ihe  beavers 
co\ei- till  ir  houses  with  a  thick  laxerofinud; 
and  as  this  iVie/es  hard,  it  makes  a  strong 
pioiiilioii  auaiiist  the  wolverine,  llieir  con- 
slant  enemy.  The  hiiililiii'.;  operatimis  usuallv 
hettiii  the  hitter  part  ol  .\iii;iist.  ailliout;h  the 
material  is  ollen  collected  earlier  In  Ihe  sea- 
:>oii,  and  us  soon  as  the  interior  Is  linished,  all 
the  projecting  twigs  and  branches  are  cut  olV, 
:mil  jiacked  'nto  the  walls,  and  plastered  over. 
a  large  stock  ol  looil  is  iaid  in.  with  an  extra 
supply  under  water,  as  before  >tated.  'I'lie 
houses  are  so  built  that  entrance  and  inler- 
commuiiication  aii'  by  waler  only;  and  In 
winter  time  the  liunleis  strike  the  ice.  in  order 
to  ascertain  il  tlie\  are  near  the  underground 
oiienings  of  a  beaver's  loilye.  When  satislieil 
of  this,  they  I  111  away  the  ice  and  i  lose  the 
entrance  to  the  house,  and  then  carefully 
''sounding"  the  passage-w.ty,  reach  the  house 
and  capture  the  inmates. 

The  "  castoreiim."  of  which  we  have  spoken, 
is  the  chief  reliance  of  the  beaver-hunter.  'I'lie 
animals  are  strangely  attracted  by  it;  and  if 
they  smell  it,  tliex  will  sit  upright.  snilV  in  all 
ilirectioiis  to  detect  its  loi ;iti<)ii,  and  re;illy 
sipieal  with  excitement.  The  hunter,  taking 
ad\  aiitage  of  this  |)ropensi|y,  always  carries  a 
supply  of  castoreum  in  a  tight  vessel,  and, 
when  he  funis  a  gooil  place  for  a  trap,  uses  it 
for  bait.  The  trap  is  usually  laid  so  as  to  be  a 
lew  inches  uiuler  water,  with  the  bait  project- 
ing a  little  ;d)ove  the  surface.  Any  beaver 
which  scents  the  bait  will  certainly  come  to 
it;  and  young  ones  are  sure  to  be  cauglit, 
but  old  and  experienced  beavers  will  often- 
times not  only  avoid  capture,  but  render  the 
trap  useless.     Instead   of  trying   to   take    the 


Homes  ok  the  Beavkk. 


ai3 


LITTLE    BUILDERS. 


KVVASIND. 

bait,  they  will  pile  mud  and  stones  upon  the 
trap  until  quite  a  hillock  is  made,  deposit 
some  castoreum  of  their  own,  and  depart  in 
peace.  This  curious  suhstance,  by  the  wav. 
is  secreted  in  two  sacs  near  t'  o  roots  of  the 
tail. 

Tliere  arc  idlers  ainonj^  beavers  as  ainonj^ 
men;  these  do  not  dwell  in  hcuiscs,  nor  do 
they  build  dams,  but  burrow  lil<a  common 
■water-rats.  They  are  always  males,  and  sev- 
eral ot  them  live  together  and  keep  a  genuine 
"bnche'ors-  hall." 

The  wolverine,  commonly  called  the  glut- 
ton, is,  next  to  man,  the  beavers  enemy.  lie 
is  a  cou.'ageous,  obstinate,  and  cunning  ani- 
mal, and  as  troublesome  to  hunters,  by  his 
tricks,  as  to  the  beavers.  He  resembles  some- 
what K.  young  bear,  is  of  a  brownish  color, 
and  is  regarded  as  a  link  between  the  badger 
and  the  polecat,  and  resembles  somewhat  a 
shaggy,  brown  dog.  As  wonderful  stories  are 
told  of  his  cunning  as  of  the  intelligence  and 
industry  of  the  beaver. 

Longfellow,  in  his  "  Song  of  Hiawatha," 
makes  frequent  allusion  to  the  beaver;  and 
the  accompanying  picture  illustrates  an  inci- 
dent in  the  sixth  division  of  that  poem,  which 
is  thus  described  ;  — 


"  Once  .IS  down  that  foaming  river, 
Down  the  ripids  of  I'.iuw.iting, 
Kwasir'i  sailed  witli  his  companions, 
In  the  stream  he  saw  a  beaver, 
Saw  Ahnieek,  the  King  of  Heavers, 
Struj^gling  with  the  rushing  currents, 
Ri--ing,  sinking  in  tie  water. 

"  Without  speaknig,  without  pausmg, 
Kwasind  leai)ed  into  the  river, 
Plunged  heneath  the  buhliling  surfaci', 
Through  ihe  wliirlp<'ols  chafed  the  heaver, 
I''oI!owecl  him  among  the  islands, 
Staid  i-o  long  beneaih  tlie  water. 
That  his  terrified  companioiis 
Cried,  'Alas  I  good  Ijy  to  Kwasind  ! 
We  shall  never  more  see  Kwasind  !  * 
lUit  he  reappeared  triumphant, 
And  upon  Ili^  shining  shoulders 
IJrouglit  the  beaver,  dead  and  dripping, 
Brought  the  King  of  all  the  Beavi-is. 

"  And  these  t«o,  as  1  have  t<jld  you. 
Were  the  friends  of  Hiawatli.i, 
C'hibiabos,  the  musician.. 
And  the  very  strong  man,  Kwasind. 
Long  they  lived  in  peace  together, 
Spake  with  naked  hearts  together, 
I'ondering  much  and  nnich  contri\ing 
How  the  tribes  of  men  might  prosper," 

And  further  on  in  (he  poem,  in  the  seven- 
teenth division,  is  a  story  of  the  beaver,  which 
is  too  long  to  be  copied  here,  but  which  we 
recommend  our  young  friends  to  read. 


•MHMMMMMlB 


mg  river, 

"ft 
ipaiiions, 

leavers, 
currents, 

Diit  pausing, 

:ig  surface, 
;ecl  the  beaver, 
iiifls, 
Iter, 

IS 

wasiiul  ! 

i.isind  !  * 

lit, 

lers 

1(1  clripiiini,', 

lieav(.is. 

e  t(4il  you, 

lia, 

-wasind. 
;etlicr, 
:ether, 
-■ontri\ing 
t  prosper," 

jiti,  in  the  seven- 
he  beaver,  which 
e,  but  wliich  we 
s  to  reaJ. 


LITTLE     BUILDERS. 


213 


LITTLE      BUILDERS. 
II.    TEKMITES. 

LET  us  suppose  ouisclves  to  be  resting  in 
a  South  African  phiin,  under  tlie  shmlow 
of  some  slieltering  rock,  or  lofty  pahn.  You 
look  arounti  in  weariness  of  spirit;  when  sud- 
dciilv  vour  attention  is  attracted  l)v  a  row  of 
columns  standing  clear  and  distinct  against 
the  horizon,  like  tlie  dwarf  pillars  of  a  pygm)' 
temple. 

A|)proach  these  apparent  columns,  these 
seeming  relics  of  a  Lilliputian  palace,  and  to 
your  surprise  you  discover  that  they  "are  not 
•■•hat  they  seeiu  ;  "  that  neither  axe  nor  chisel 
has  ever  wrought  upon  them  ;  that  never  were 
they  designed  or  executed  by  man.  To  your 
astonisliment,  you  find  them  to  have  been 
reared  under  the  hot  African  sun  by  a  nation 
oi  uisec/f — a  nation  well  entitled  to  share 
with  the  beavers  and  other  claimants  the  honor 
of  having  been  among  the  first  builders.  Yes  ; 
you  are  standing  in  wonder  befori  the  work 
of  the  so-called  -v/iitc  luila.  the  terrible  icr- 
milcs  ! 

Although  the  beaver  is  a  wonderful  little 
builder,  the  termites  are  more  artistic  archi- 
tects, and  produce  an  edifice  more  pictu- 
res(;Ue  and  ornamental,  as  well  as  much 
larger  and  more  im])osing.  These  insects 
are  not  properly  ants,  though  in  their  habits 
they  closely  resemble  them,  and  are  seldom 
found  except  witliin  the  tropics.  A  portion 
of  them  are  provided  with  wings,  though 
they  use  them  only  once.  Like  the  ants, 
they  are  very  industrious,  and  achieve  the 
most  astonishing  results  by  their  labors,  so 
iiigi-iiious  a.-  to  seem  more  like  the  work  ot 
intellect  than  mere  instinct. 

LiKe  the  bees  they  are  divided  into  three 
classes  —  males,  females,  and  neuters,  or  work- 
ers. Thevlive  together  in  coinnnmities,  which 
appear  to  be  as  well-ortlered  as  any  society  of 
men.  They  are  exceedingly  tiestructive  to 
wood-work,  and  are  a  pest  to  mankind,  though 
they  have  their  uses  ih  the  economy  of  nature, 
one  of  which  is  to  serve  as  t'ood  for  birds, 
reptiles,  and  other  ants.  The  most  notable 
species  is  the  fcnnes  bellicosiis.  which  is  tlie 
largest  and  most  destructive  of  its  kind. 
These  insects  a^e  also  the  most  distinguished 
as  builders,  and  soinetimes  erect  houses  six- 
teen or  seventeen  feet  high,  and  about  the 
same  in  diameter  at  the  base.  These  edifices 
are  built  of  clay,  tempered  by  sotne  myste- 
rious chetnical  process  in  the  jaws  of  the  in- 


HoMK  OK  TiiK  Termites. 

sect,  and  are  nearly  as  firm  and  hard  as  the 
solid  granite.  They  are  so  strong  that,  though 
honevcombed  with  galleries,  and  filled  with 
chambers,  they  will  support  the  weight  of  an 
African  bulTalo,  which  often  climbs  upon  it  in 
order  to  examine  the  distant  iilain,  to  detect 
the  approach  of  the  lion  or  other  s.ivage  beast 
of  prey.  Beneath  the  conic  structure  there  are 
subterranean  excavations,  full  of  wells,  cham- 
bers, and  galleries,  quite  as  wonderful  as  those 
in  the  house  'tself.  T'le  builders  of  these  re- 
iTiarkable  abodes  are  only  one  fifth  of  an  inch 
in  length,  and.  comjiared  with  the  size  of  the 
insects,  they  are  infinitely  more  grand  and  im- 
posing than  any  structure  erected  by  man.  not 
cNcepting  the  pyramids. 

Every  termite  cominunity  is  founded  by  a 
king  and  queen,  which  take  their  fiight  from 
some  other  es'tblishment ;  and  they  seem  to 
be  proxiiled  with  wings  solely  for  this  single 
iournev  of  their  lileti'iie,  for  they  never  use 
them  on  any  other  occasion.  As  soon  as  they 
are  perfectly  luatured  in  the  parent  home, 
they  take  their  flight,  usually  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  rainy  season.  Though  several 
thousand  of  them  may  start,  only  a  few.  per- 
haps not  more  than  on  •  pair  in  a  thousand, 
will  survive  the  journey,  for  their  wings  are 
exceedingly  fragile.  A  single  pair  of  them, 
overcoming  the  perils  of  the  fiight.  takes  to 
the  earth  at  a  point  to  which  their  instinct 
conducts  them,  and  being  of  a  royal  race, 
they  immediately  receive  the  homage  of  the 
inferior  order  of  their  species,  which  at  this 
period  are  on  the  lookotit  for  "  the  powers 
that  be." 

The  termites  present  some  remarkal.le  pecu- 
liarities in  their  development  from  th.'  larvae, 


114 


LITTLE    BLMLDKRS. 


or  eggs.  Oiilv  :i  Miiall  proportion  of  them  at- 
tain to  the  dignity  of  tlic  perfect  insect;  and 
these,  iiaving  wings,  arc  the  kings  and  queens, 
whose  purpose  of  existence  is  to  found  new 
colonies.  The  males  which  do  not  attain  to 
this  perfect  state  of  being  are  tlie  soldiers,  as 
they  are  called,  distinguished  by  their  im- 
mense heads  and  strong  jaws.  The  females 
which  are  not  perfectly  developed  are  the 
workers.  As  under  safe  governnients  of  the 
human  race,  whc-c  prudence  tolerates  only  a 
^mall  number  of  soldiers,  because  they  are 
dangerous  to  the  liberties  of  the  people,  na- 
ture has  adjusted  the  proportion  in  the  wisest 
and  most  secure  manner,  providing  only  about 
one  soldier  to  every  hundred  workers. 

As  soon  as  the  royal  pair  have  alighted  at 
their  destination,  the  workers  surround  them, 
and  actually  take  possession  of  them  accord- 
ing to  their  mode  of  rendering  homage  to  the 
sovereign  power,  and  immediately  install  them 
in  their  ne\  (juarters.  Their  future  residence, 
which  i'  appears  is  also  the  royal  mausoleum, 
consists  of  a  chamber,  built  bv  the  indus- 
trious insects  around  their  majesties.  In  this 
tenement  of  clay,  they  a.  not  only  the  sove- 
reigns, but  the  parentsof  their  future  subjects. 
The  king  and  queen  lose  their  wings,  and  a 
most  remarkable  change  begins  to  take  place 
in  the  latter.  M'hile  her  head,  chest,  and  legs 
remain  in  their  former  condition,  the  abdomen 
increases  in  size,  till  this  organ  seems  to  be 
all  there  is  of  her;  in  fact  the  owner  becomes 
as  large  as  a  man's  finger,  and  her  majestv  is 
utterly  unable  to  move.  In  this  condition  si:,; 
begins  to  lay  her  eggs,  producing  them  to  the 
astounding  extent  of  eighty  thousand  in  a 
single  day. 

The  parent  pair,  in  tlijir  original  state,  are 
larger  than  the  workers  ;  and  their  chamber  is 
provide^;  with  a  great  nuiviber  of  doors,  or 
openings,  which  are  just  large  enough  to 
admit  the  passage  of  the  subjects,  but  too 
small  for  the  egress  of  the  king  or  queen, 
even  if  the  latter  were  physically  able  to 
move.  As  fast  as  she  lays  her  eggs,  the 
workers  carry  them  away  from  her  and  de- 
posit them  ii.  the  smaller  chambers  or  nurse- 
ries which  are  prepared  beforeliand,  and  which 
are  reached  by  the  nmnerous  galleries,  all  of 
thetv.  being  connected  with  a  central  jiassagc- 
way.  They  are  small,  irregulnrly-shaped 
apa'tments,  which,  with  the  galleries  and 
store-houses,  fill  the  entire  structure.  The 
royal  chamber  is  nearly  on  a  level  with  the 
s"rface  of  the  ground.  It  has  a  vaulted  ceil- 
ing, pierced  with  round  windows,  and  a 
smooth,  level  floor.     Around  it  are  the  offices, 


Nat  ivk  destroying  a  Hill. 

if  they  may  be  called  by  such  a  nainc,  which 
are  vaulted  chambers,  connected  bv  corridors, 
and  occupied  by  the  attendants  of  the  rova! 
pair.  Next  to  the  shell,  or  walls  of  the  house, 
are  located  the  store-rooms,  providentiv  filled 
with  gums,  vegetable  juices,  and  other  mate- 
rials used  in  the  process  of  building.  Above 
this  lower  story,  supported  on  pillars  two  feet 
high,  is  the  floor  on  which  the  nurseries  are 
placed.  The  partitions  between  them  are 
made  of  particles  of  wood,  cemented  together 
with  gum.  Over  these  egg  depositories  is  a 
lofty  apartment,  occupying  the  apex  of  the 
conic  house,  and  about  one  third  of  its  entire 
height. 

The  exterior  crust  of  the  building  is  about 
twenty  inches  in  thickness.  As  may  be  seen 
in  the  illustration,  it  appears  to  be  covered 
with  turrets,  or  small  domes.  Several  of 
these  formations,  much  smaller  and  entirelv 
detached  from  the  principal  ones,  are  de- 
picted, but  the  larger  ones  were  formerly  of 
no  greater  magnitude.  Several  of  these  in- 
ferior mounds  were  first  built,  until  a  group 
of  them  was  collected.  Th?  central  one  wj.s 
always  kept  higher  than  the  others,  and  all 
were  increased  as  the  demands  for  additional 
space  required.  Then  the  intelligent  insects 
began  to  connect  them  at  the  base,  filling  up 
any  openings  made  in  the  shell,  till  the  whole 
were  merged  into  one.  with  only  the  summits 
of  the  originals  to  indicate  their  former  sepa- 
rate state.     The  interior  appears  to  undergo 


LITTLE     BUILDERS. 


2'5 


LL. 

ainc,  which 
y  corridors, 
3f  the  roval 
f  tlie  house, 
[ientl.v  fiileil 
other  iiiate- 
u'j;.  Aliove 
ars  twi)  feet 
urseries  arc 

I  them  are 
ted  toi^etlier 
sitories  is  a 
apex  of  the 
if  its  entire 

ng  is  about 
nay  be  seen 
be  covered 
Several  of 
tnd  entirely 
es,  are  de- 
forinerly  of 
jf  these  in- 
itil  a  group 
ral  one  \vr>s 
ers.  and  all 
r  additional 
i^ent  insects 
e.  filling;  up 

II  the  whole 
:he  summits 
brmer  sepa- 

to  undergo 


repeated  modifications,  until  the  lodgers  there- 
in are  suitably  accommodated. 

The  eggs  are  carefully  v»-.->tched  over  in  the 
chambers  till  they  are  hatched,  and  then  the 
young  termites  .nre  tenderly  nursed  till  they 
are  able  to  take  care  of  themselves.     The  king 
and  queen  seem  to  live  lives  of  in-loriouc  c.ise. 
without  making  any  use  of  their  regal  power, 
and  the  vast  community  governs  itself  with- 
out interference   from  the  ruling  powers,  all 
the    soldiers   and   workers    performing   their 
various   duties  without   direction    or  compul- 
sion.    They  know  how  to  do  everythinjr,  and 
when  to  do  it.     It  is  thought  that  two  or  three 
years  are  required  for  the  full  development  of 
the   insect   from  the    egg,    thor.gh    any   such 
statistics  must  necessarily  be  rather  question- 
able.   In  due  time,  be  it  long  or  short,  the  eggs 
are  hatched,  and   a  new  generation  of  kings 
and    queens    appears,    attended    by   the    vast 
swarms  of   soldiers   and   workers.     Choosing 
the  most  unsuitable  time  in  the  whole  year,  as 
it  wofild  appear  to  our  fallible  wisdom,   the 
roval  termites  lly  away  upon  their  single  life 
journey,   to    found    a    new  colony.     The  vast 
number  that  perish    in   the  attempt  to  do  so, 
proves  conclusively  that  only  a   few  are  born 
to  reign,  or  even   to  be  the   parents  of  one  of 
these  stupendous  families. 

The  humbler  myriads  in  the  home  of  their 
birth  are  crowded  out  by  the  multiplication  of 
the  species,  and  these  in  turn  are  compelled  to 
look  up  a  royal  jiair  in  order  to  establish  a 
new  household.  The  process  is  repeated,  over 
and  over  again,  until,  if  prudent  nature  did 
not  provide  for  their  extirpation  in  the  fullil- 
ment  of  the  ends  of  their  being,  all  Africa 
would  become  but  a  vast  ant-hill.  The  wing- 
less ones  are  much  used  by  the  natives,  and 
even  by  some  Europeans,  as  an  article  of  food, 
and  are  eaten  roasted  like  colVee, 

The  workers  are  always  employed,  and  are 
exceedingly  lively  in  their  movements.  As 
"walkists"  they  make  splendid  lime.  The 
soldiers,  as  becomes  their  profession,  arc  \ery 
savage,  and  their  bite  '•  severe  and  p.iinful, 
though  not  dangerous  to  a  healthy  pcson. 
When  they  fasten  to  anything  or  anybody, 
they  adhere  to  it  with  the  tenacity  of  a  bull- 
dog, and  will  be  torn  in  pieces  rather  than  re- 
lease their  hold. 

The  termites,  as  before  observed,  are  ex- 
ceedingly destructive,  and  nothing  but  iron 
and  stone  is  safe  from  their  ravages.  The  en- 
tire wood-work  of  a  iiouse  has  been  known  to 
be  rendered  useless  by  ti.jir  attacks  in  a  single 
season.  They  work  in  the  dark,  and,  in  the 
most  cunning  manner,  keep  out  of  sight  while 


thev  carrv  on   tlieir  destructive   l.nbors;    and 
often  before  their  presence  is  suspected  they 
complete  their  work.     With  the  sharp  instru- 
ment with  which  nature   supplies   their  jaws 
they  bore  through  the  floor  of  a  house  to  the 
leg  of  a  table  or  chair,  up  which   they  tunnel 
a  path  for  themselves,  and  actually  move  all 
through  the  wood-work  of  the  article,  wasting 
and  destroying  as  they  go,  eating  to  within 
the  thickness  of  a  piece  of  paper  of  the  exte- 
rior surface,   but  never  breaking   through   it. 
The  piece  of  furniture  in  this  condition  seems 
to  be  as  perfect  as  ever;  but  m  the  slightest 
application   of  force,   it  falls  to  pieces.     This 
mav  happen   to  every  article  in   a   room,  and 
each   in   its  turn  crumble  into  du.  t  upon  the 
floor  in  the  presence  of  the  astonished  owner, 
A  whole  staircase  has  been  known  to  yield, 
and  almost  vanish   into  thin  air,  at  the  first 
touch  of  a  footstep.     A  stake  in  the  garden,  a 
plank    laid   on    a   bed,   and   large  trees,  from 
the   roots  to  the   remotest  branches,  are  rid- 
dled, even   while   they  show   no  signs  of  the 
destroyer  on  the  surface.     .\  man,  accidentally 
slipping  on  a  staircase,  grasped  an  oak  post 
for  support,  but  buried  his   hand  to  the  wrist 
in  the  tunnelled  wood,  which  ths  termites  had 
invaded.     Some  boxes  of  documents  were  at- 
tacked by  the  insects,  which  mined  a  passage 
to  them  "through  the  wainscoting  of  the  room. 
They  devoured  the   papers  without  regard  to 
iheir    olficial    character,    leaving     the    upper 
sheets,  and   the   margins  of  each,  so  that,  on 
openin).,   the  boxes,   (lie  files  seemed  to  be  in 
perfect   condition,    though    there    was    really 
••  nothing  but  a  shell."  a  mass  of  rubbish,  in 
them. 

It  will  be  acknowledged  that  the  termites  are 
excellent  workmen  and  skilful  little  builders; 
but  we  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  s  ich 
unscrupulous  laborers  are  not  domiciled  in 
our  own  land.  They  belong  to  that  class  of 
operatives  whose  works  we  prefer  to  admire  at 
a  safe  distance.  As  builders  they  are  worthy 
of  something  more  than  mere  admiration,  for 
thev  teach  us  an  important  lesson  in  the  art  of 
building.  They  build  strongly  and  securely, 
with  but  little  regard  to  mere  ornament,  and 
we  may  prudently  imitate  their  example. 


;4liil*il 


216 


0\     THE     WAR     PATH. 


IHEY    WKKK    LY(.NG    KLAT    Ul'ON    THE    GROUND,    CLOSE    TO    A    FALLEN    TreE."      I'agC    320. 

ON  THE  WAS  PATH, 


M 


BY  J.     H.    W. 

Y  grandfather   had   two  nei^-hors  who 
enlisted   with    liiiu   ">  serve   in  Ro<^ers' 


son  —  one  of  the  two  neighbors  I  have  a'.luded 
to  —  made  a  prisoner.  The  other  heighbor's 
name  was  Warner.  The  Rangers  were  to  the 
westward  of  Lake  George,  and  had  been  out 
for  some  davs  on  a  scouting  expedition.    They 


Rangers,  during  the  old    Froiich    and   Indian  .  were  returning  to  the  main  body  of  the  Eng- 
war.     In  those  days  the  neighbors  in  newly-     lish  forces,  and  had  "^ncamped  at  night  so  near 

that  they  could  rejoin  them   by  an  easy  half- 
day's  march. 

Having  seen  no  indication  of  any  foe  being 
near  for  some   tiin?,  they  relaxed   their  usual 


settled  regions  were  not  man}',  and  all  who 
lived  within  a  radius  of  half  a  dozen  miles 
were  reckoned  as  such.  These  two  were  lo- 
cated  so    near    to    mv    grandfather's  clea-ing 


that  he  was  more  intimate  with  them  than  vigilance  so  much  that  they  remained  in  camp 
with  some  others.  They  were  young  men,  who  longer  than  usual  the  next  morning,  that  they 
had  started  in  life  somewhat  like  himself;  and,  might  amuse  and  improve  themselves  by  prac- 
being  similarly  situated,  and  wort',./  of  each  tice  in  firing  at  targets.  When  they  finally 
other's  respect,  it  was  nuliiral  that  they  should  started,  it  was  in  a  long,  single  line,  one  man 
have  a  strong  fiicndship  for  each  other.  following  another,   in  a  style  called  "  Indian 

The  Rangers,  the  first  summer  my  grand-  file." 
father  was  with  them,  were  a  part  of  the  time  '  The  line  was  so  long,  that  the  l:io,t  men  had 
in  the  wilderness  around  Lake  George,  acting  not  shouldercil  their  packs,  when  a  rattling 
as  scouts  for  the  regular  army,  counteracting  volley  was  heard  from  the  front,  accompanied 
the  designs  of  the  r,.  '  allies  of  the  Frencli  hy  by  the  well-known  warwhoop,  followed  by 
craft  and  cunning  equal  to  their  own.  Thev  a  weak,  scattering  fire  from  the  Rangers, 
were  almost  always  on  detached  service,  and.  Surprised  as  tlu  y  were,  the  Rangers  were 
of  course,  met  with  more  peril  ami  adventure  frighten  }d.  and  unable  to  make  ar.y  ctrectual 
than  if  thev  had  been  regniar  troops.  resistance:     and.    instead    of    staiuling    their 

My  father  used  to  like  to  tell  a  storv,  wi  ,ch  ground,  they  turned  and  fled,  shouting  to  the 
grandfather  had  told  to  him,  of  how  the  Ran-  j  others  to  save  themselves,  for  they  were  suv- 
gers  were  surprised  one- morning,  and  Robin-  |  rounded. 


4i"i 


ON    THE    WAR    PATH. 


217 


'     Page  320. 

I  have  a'.Iuded 
ler  heighbor's 
rs  were  to  the 
had  been  out 
'dition.  They 
y  of  the  Eng- 
night  so  near 
an  easy  half- 

any  foe  being 
d  their  usual 
ained  in  camp 
ing,  tliat  they 
elves  by  prac- 
1  they  finally 
line,  one  man 
illed  "  Indian 

la.^t  men  had 
LM)  a  rattling 
accompanied 

followed    by 
Rangers, 
dangers  were 

ar.>  cifectiiiil 
aiuling  tliclr 
anting  to  the 
lev  were  suv- 


At  first  thought  this  might  seem  like  mere 
cowardice;  but  a  second  thought  will  show  that 
no  coward  would  have  enlisted  for  such  a  ser- 
vice as  the  Rangers  were  required  to  perform. 
These  men  understood  at  once  just  how  they 
were  placed;  and  they  were  not  sr)  anxious  for  ; 
a  glorious  death  as  to  stand  between  two  fires,  '■ 
to  be  inevitably  shot  down  and  scalped. 

Taking  advantage  of  their  carelessness,  a  j 
large  party  of  Indians  had  got  so  near  that 
thev  had  been  able  to  form  an  ambush  almost 
in  sight  of  the  camp,  where  such  a  thing  would 
have  been  least  expected.  They  hud  placed 
themselves  in  a  heater  form,  as  my  father  ex- 
pressed it;  that  is,  in  two  lines  diverging  from  1 
a  point,  somewhat  like  the  letter  V;  and  when  i 
the  Rangers  started,  they  marched  in  between 
these  lines,  clear  up  to  the  point,  before  the 
Indians  fired  upon  them.  Every  Indian  was 
concealed  behind  a  protecting  tree;  but,  be- 
ing between  the  two  lines,  it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  the  Rangers  to  have  concealed 
themselves;  and  they  could  only  remain  to  be 
shot  down,  or  run.  And  they  would  have 
been  very  foolish,  indeed,  not  to  do  the  last. 

When  the  men  turned  back,  the  Indians  fol- 
lowed them,  filling  the  woods  with  their  wild 
whoops,  and  swiftly  tearing  olT  the  scalps  of 
those  who  had  fallen.  Rogers,  bareheaded, 
and  almost  frantic  at  the  sight  of  his  fleeing 
men,  shouted  out  his  commands  and  entrea- 
ties that  they  should  make  a  stand,  and  re- 
pulse the  pursuing  foe.  Rushing  to  the  front, 
he  came  so  near  to  the  eneiny  that  a  huge  In- 
dian was  tempted  to  rush  forward  and  grasp 
him  by  his  belt,  uttering  in  his  guttural  way 
as  he  did  so,  — 

"  Big  debblc,  now  me  got  ye  !  " 
But  he  was  mistaken,  for  Rogers's  quick 
knife  divided  the  belt,  and,  dealing  the  Indian 
a  thrust  as  he  leapt  away  from  him,  he  es- 
caped, anr'.  succeeded  at  last  in  bringing'  his 
men  to  a  stand. 

Two  or  three  of  the  foremost  men  in  the  line 
had  been  grasped  by  the  Indians  in  the  same 
way,  and'had  not  been  so  fortunate  in  escap- 
ing; and  one  of  them  was  Robinson.  These 
men  were  hurried  to  the  rear  of  the  attacking 
partv,  and  securely  bound;  not  with  any  in- 
tention of  keeping  them  prisoners  very  long, 
but  to  give  the  ravages  an  opportunity  of  test- 
ing their  endurance  by  some  of  their  torturous 
practices  before  putting  them  to  death. 

Rogers's  men  were  not  the  ones  to  be  easily 
beaten  in  a  fair  fight;  and  when  they  had  come 
to  a  stand,  and  were  sheltered  behind  the  trees, 
in  Indian  fashion,  they  fought  for  some  hours, 
their  bullets  telling  on  every  e.\posed  head  or 


liiTib  of  an  Indian  that  coulii  be  seen.  Many 
a  red  man  was  stretched  in  death:  and  smne 
of  the  scouts  were  also  brought  low.  But  the 
attacking  party  finally  yielded  the  ground,  re- 
treating from  tree  to  tree  so  cautiously  that 
their  absence  could  only  be  known  by  the 
slackening  lire. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  Indians  man- 
aged to  get  aw.ay  all  their  dead  out  of  imme- 
diate reach  of  their  foe.  Even  while  the  shol-^ 
were  rattling  the  fastest,  the  fallen  bodie> 
would  be  spirited  away,  as  it  were,  the  Ran- 
gers seeing  them  sliiling  along  the  ground  to 
the  rear,  drawn,  probably,  by  lines  that  had 
been  attached  to  them  so  stealthily  that  none 
had  been  discovered  in  the  act  of  approaching 
or  leavii'g  them. 

The  Rangers  pressed  alter  the  retreating 
Indians  till  they  hail  driven  them  some  dis- 
tance, and  then  turned  back  to  look  al'ter  those 
who  had  fallen.  It  was  then  that  they  lea.-ned 
>,ho  and  how  many  were  carried  aw.iy  prison- 
ers. It  was  not  likely  that  any  were  absent 
unless  they  were  prisoners;  and  there  were 
four  men  missing,  besides  those  who  were  ly- 
ing upon  the  ground.  Rogers  decided  at  once 
that  the  enemy  must  be  pursued,  and  those 
men  rescued. 

It  would  not  be  safe  for  the  Rangers  to  rush 
forward  as  they  might  have  done  in  an  open 
country,  for  by  so  doing  they  might  again  ex- 
pose themselves  as  they  had  done  in  the  morn- 
ing. It  was  necessary  to  move  cautiously, 
sending  scouts  ahead,  to  make  sure  of  the 
course  the  savages  had  taken,  and  to  prevent 
being  again  surprised.  Warner  and  iny  grand- 
father were  allowed  to  go  ahead,  their  impa- 
tience on  account  of  their  friend  leading  them 
to  request  it  as  a  favor  from  their  commander. 
It  was  soon  evident  that  the  savages  were 
in  haste,  probably- owing  to  the  near  proximity 
of  the  main  body  of  th"  English  army.  And 
when  this  fact  had  been  ascertained  beyond  a 
doubt,  the  whole  body  of  the  Rangers  moved 
forward  rapidly  for  a  while  in  pursuit. 

Warner  and  my  grandfather  kept  in  advance, 

though  never  getting  even   a   glimpse   of  the 

retreating  savages.    But  there  was  no  difficulty 

in  following  the  broad,  fresh  trail  they  made. 

No  doubt  the  scouts  of  the  enemy  were  aKo 

watching  them;   and    it  occurred  to    them   ;it 

last    that    it   was    hardly    probable    that  tluv 

I  would  make  any  halt  so   long   as   the   pur^ult 

was   so   close.     Perhaps,  after  all,    their  jiur- 

:  pose  of  overtaking  them  would  be  best  accom- 

i  plished   by  strategy;    and  it  was   decided  to 

I  relinquish  the  pursuit  apparently. 

!      Accordingly,  the  main  body  of  the  Rangers 


aiS 


ON     THE     WAR     PATH, 


!• 


I 


returned  u  little  way.  till  they  found  a  good 
campinjj-grouiul.  where  they  made  prepara- 
tion as  if  to  pass  the  nii^ht,  and  heiran  to  cook 
their  viipper.  The  scouts,  also,  made  a  feint 
of  turnini;  hack,  hut  were  soon  aijain  on  the 
trail,  that  they  might  keep  informed  of  the 
movements  of  the  enemv. 

,\fter  ilark,  the  Rangers  left  their  fires  hurtl- 
ing, and  moved  silently  forward  again.  The 
scouts  brought  tliem  word,  after  tlie\'  had  been 
oil  the  march  some  two  hours,  that  the  In- 
dians had  liiially  halleil.  ajiparentlv  to  pa^s 
the  night.  My  grandfather  and  Warner  had 
both  seen  them  ;  and  they  were  t'earl'ul.  from 
the  jHeparation  that  was  going  on.  that  the 
prisoners  would  be  put  to  death  before  the 
main  body  of  the  Rangers  could  come  up  with 
them.  They  hurried  forward,  therefore,  as 
fast  as  lliey  could  through  the  dark  I'oresl, 
guided  by  the  men  who  hail  been  before  them. 

They  had  several  miles  to  go  before  thev 
came  in  sight  of  the  Iiuiians'  fires,  which  were 
in  a  hollow,  that  prevented  their  being  seen 
till  quite  closely  approached.  Then  a  halt 
was  made  to  reconnoitre,  and  deciiie  in  wh;  •  i 
way  they  could  best  attack  them. 

By  the  light  of  the  fires  the  dusky  forms  of 
the  Indians  could  be  seen,  some  of  them  busied 
in  preparations  for  the  torture  of  their  pris- 
oners, and  some  replcni'l'ing  the  fires,  while 
a  large  party  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  council. 
At  first  they  thought  that  all  the  prisoners 
were  still  alive.  They  could  see  two  of  them 
very  plainly,  lying  bound  ui)on  the  grouml. 
not  far  Irom  two  small  trees,  near  to  which  a 
(piantity  of  brush  had  been  piled,  and  where 
several  of  the  Indians  were  evidently  prep-  - 
ing  small  pitch-pine  splints,  such  as  it  was 
their  custom  to  stick  in  the  bodies  of  the  pris- 
oners whom  tbcyburnetl  at  the  stake,  T?ut  in 
a  moment  more  they  were  struck  with  horror; 
for,  on  looking  around  for  the  other  two  pris- 
oners, they  saw  them  raised  above  the  ground, 
their  outstretched  limbs  bound  to  the  tops  of 
tour  strong  saplings,  which  were  bent  towards 
them,  and  under  the  body  of  each  a  brush-fire 
was  blazing,  the  fiames  ascending  so  far  as  to 
touch  their  bodies  witliout  fairly  enveloping 
them.  It  was  such  a  mode  of  torture  as  they 
had  never  seen  or  heard  of  being  practised, 
and  for  a  moment  they  were  horrified  by  it.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  the  victims  could  re- 
main silent  while  enduring  such  sulVering  as 
those  tlames  must  proihice.  and  the  quick  j 
conclusion  was  that  both  were  already  tiead. 

It  was  hardly  more  than  a  minute  that  they 
looked  upon  this  scene,  yet  it  was  sulfieionl 
for  them  to  see  and  understand  it  all.    An  oath 


was  on  Rogers's  lips,  and  he  was  about  to  swear 
the  direst  vengeance  on  those  who  could  per- 
petrate such  cruelty,  wlien,  suddenly,  the  In- 
dians all  sprang  to  the  dilferent  fires,  scatter- 
ing and  extinguishing  them  in  an  instant, 
and  all  was  buried  in  darkness.  Not  a  sound 
was  heard  in  that  wide  forest,  and  but  for  the 
glimmering  sparks  ami  d\  ing  brands,  that  -Liil 
glowed  faintly,  it  would  have  seemed  as  if 
what  they  had  been  looking  upon  \\ as  some 
optical  illusion,  which  had  been  destroveil  by 
a  passing  breath  of  air.  Rut  as  quickly  as  the 
scene  had  disappeared,  those  men  knew  that 
their  near  presence  had  been  discovered. 

It  was  a  hazardous  thing,  perhaps;  but 
Rogers  at  once  gave  the  order  for  his  men  to 
deploy  and  charge,  in  the  hope  of  at  least  ri>- 
euing  the  two  remaining  prisoners,  'lis  men 
all  carried  rifies  without  bayonets,  and.  of 
course,  little  more  was  e.\pect  'd  to  result  from 
the  charge  than  the  scattering  of  the  Indians 
so  suddenly  as  to  jirevent  their  carrying  awav 
the  prisoners  with  them  ;  though  in  a  close 
encounter  the  knives  which  the  men  carried 
wouhl  be  quite  as  elfective,  perhaps,  as  would 
be  the  bayonets  of  regular  troops. 

At  the  word,  .'.,j  men  rushed  forward,  rais- 
ing such  a  shout  as  had  never  resounded 
through  those  woods  before.  Hut  no  note  of 
defiance  came  in  reply  ;  and  when  thev  reached 
the  ground  where  the  Indians  had  "been,  they 
swcjit  over  it  unopposed,  meeting  no  solitarv 
form.  Warner  and  my  grandfather  had  rushed 
straight  for  where  they  had  seen  the  prisoners  ; 
but  when  they  reached  the  spot,  they,  too, 
were  gone  I 

Having  passed  completely  over  the  ground, 
and  to  some  distance  beyond,  Rogers  halted 
his  men.  not  knowing  which  w,ay  to  go.  The 
Iiuliai  s  had  conqiletely  haflled  him.  In  thp 
darkness  of  the  night  he  could  not  trace  them  ; 
and  a  light  must  be  procured,  at  least,  to  ena- 
ble him  to  do  so.  And  a  light  would  serve  to 
expose  his  men  to  a  hnking  foe  liefore  it  would 
reveal  that  toe's  hiding-place.  It  was  better, 
therefore,  to  remain  in  darkness  till  the  rising 
sun  should  give  them  an  equal  chance.  Stand- 
ing there,  listening  for  any  sound  of  those  who 
had  disappeared,  the  dark  forest  was  as  silent 
as  though  no  human  being  had  ever  passed 
beneath  its  solemn  arches.  The  Indians 
seemed,  indeed,  to  have  vanished  by  enchant- 
ment; and  the  minds  of  the  men  were  allected 
by  a  sort  of  fear  they  had  never  before  expe- 
rienced. 

But  they  had  no  doubt  they  would  find  the 
bodies  of  the  men  they  had  seen  roasting  over 
the   fires;    and   they    returned    noiselessly   to 


I 


ON     THE     WAR     PATH. 


319 


about  to  swciir 
v'lio  could  pcv- 
Iclenly,  tlie  lu- 
t  tires,  scattci- 
iu  an  instant, 
Not  a  sound 
iid  but  for  tlie 
ands,  tliat  -lill 
seemed  as  if" 
pon  was  soine 
1  destroyed  by 
quickly  as  tlie 
nen  knew  that 
scovcred. 
perhaps ;  but 
for  his  men  to 
of  at  least  n>- 
lers.  'lis  men 
nnets,  and.  of 
I  to  result  from 
of  the  Indians 
carryinif  away 
igh  in  a  close 
le  men  carried 
haps,  as  would 
p.-. 

forwaid,  rais- 
ver  resounded 
lut  no  note  of 
I)  they  reached 
lad" been,  they 
inif  no  solitary 
her  had  rushed 
the  prisoners  ; 
pot,    they,   too, 

er  the  ground, 
Rogers  halted 
ay  to  go.  The 
1  him.  In  the 
lot  trace  them ; 
it  least,  to  ena- 
would  serve  to 
liefore  it  would 

It  was  better. 
s  till  the  rising 
hance.  Stand- 
d  of  those  who 
it  was  as  silent 
id  ever  passeil 

The  Indians 
ed  by  enchant- 
n  were  allected 
jr  before  cxpe- 

kvould  find  tlie 

n  roasting  over 

noiselessly    to 


1 


look  for  them.  Indeed  they  were  there.  A  go  on  alone,  and  lose  his  scalp,  he  might  do 
smell  of  burned  flesh  pervading  the  air  around  j  so.  Of  course  he  did  not  think  that  Warner 
guided  the  scouts  directlv  to  them;  and  the  would  take  him  at  his  word;  and  he  was  a 
scon  bed  and  crisped  bodies  were  cut  from  the  little  surprised  when  the  bold  fellow  replied 
straining  saplin-s  that  held  them,  and  laid  that  he  felt  grateful  for  the  permission  given, 
upon  the  ground.  A  dving  brand  was  fanned  ;  and  that  he  might  be  assured  he  wou'd  bring 
into  flame,  and  held  o'ver  the  pain-distorted  back  the  prisoners,  or  the  scalps  ot  two  lull- 
faces.  to  discover  who  they  were.  Thev  were  I  grown  Indians  instead.  Rogers  was  not  the 
har.lly  recognizable,  but  neither  of  them  was  j  man  to  take  back  what  he  had  said  ;  and,  find- 
Robinson's;   and  the  assurance  was   some  re 


lief  to  my  grandfather's  miiul;  for.  though 
he  could  hartlly  hope  that  his  friend  would 
escape,  so  long  as  be  was  alive  there  was  a 
chance  that  he  might:  and  the  slightest  chance 
was  better  than  would  be  the  certainty  that  he 


ing  that  Warner  was  really  in  earnest,  be  told 
him  he  might  select  a  man  to  go  with  him. 
thinking,  probably,  that  two  men  would  be 
safer  than  one  in  following  an  enemy.  My 
grandfather  was  ready  to  improve  this  opp<..  • 
tuiiitv,  being  as  ready  as  Warner  to  continue 


was  dead.  Nothing  could  be  done  except  to  ]  the  pursuit,  even  aUme. 
-uard  a-ainst  an  attack  from  the  Indians,  till  Accordingly,  after  having  refreshed  tl.cm- 
davli-dit  should  come  again;  and,  retiring  si-  I  selves,  they  two  continued  on  the  trail,  and 
leiitly  to  a  safer  place,  a  circle  of  guards  were  had  gone  scarce  a  hundred  yards  before  they 
stationed,  and  the  others  laid  themselves  down  were  out  of  sight  of  their  comr.ades,  who. 
,  j„  sleep.  ■""""  ""'^''  "'^-'''  '^•"'  '•'  ■'PP'-'"''^"''-  turned  in  the 

The  silence  of  the  night  remained  unbroken,  ; 
except  bv  the  occasional  cry  of  some  wakeful 
animal,  or  the  rustling  of  wind-stirred  leaves;  1 
and  with  the  dawn  of  light  all    the   men  were 


on  their  feet  again,  inspecting  their  arms,  and 
making  hasty  preparation  l"or  the  renewed 
pursuit  of  the  savages.  The  search  for  their 
trail  showed  that  they  had  moved  otV  to  the 
left,  or  westward,  instead  of  going  directly 
t'rom  the  approaching  Ibe.  as  wouUl  naturally 
be  supposed.  The  trail  having  been  found, 
it  was  easily  followed;  and,  keeping  scouts 
in  advance,  to  warn  the  main  body  of  any  im- 
pending danger,  they  went  through  the  woods 
at  a  quick  pace,  every  one  bei.ig  eager  to  over- 
take the  retreating  savages.  There  was  little 
p'-obability,  to  be  sure,  of  recovering  the  pris- 


opposite  direction,  ..nil  retraced  their  steps 
towards  the  English  fort. 

Warner  and  my  grandfather  felt  that  they 
were  running  a  great  risk;  and  there  can  be 
no  doubt  but  what  the\  thought  of  the  wives 
who  were  waiting  for  them  at  home,  and  of 
the  little  ones.  I5ut  Robinson  bad  a  waiting 
wife  and  little  ones  also;  and  they  did  not 
forget  that  his  love  for  them  was  likely  to  be 
as  strong  as  their  own  love  could  be  lor  theirs  ; 
and  they  were  resolved  to  risk  their  lives  in 
this  wav  for  the  chance,  though  small  it  was, 
of  rescuing  him,  and  enabling  him  to  return 
home  with  them. 

The  two  men  went  forward  swiftly  but  caii- 
tiouslv,  in  the  shade  of  the  overarchirg  trees, 
seldom  speaking  to  each  other:  and  when  they 


t  '  did,  it  was  always  in   tones  so  low  that  they 


oners  alive;  but  everv  one  was   eager   to  get 

a-'ain  within  rille-shot"  of  those  who  had  car-  ;  could  have  been   heard  but  a  few  yards  from 
such    cruel    torment,    that  j  them.     They  hardly  halted  more  than  a  mo- 

ment  at  a  time  during   the  whole    alternoon; 


ricd  them  aw:iy  to 

they  might  at  least  avenge  tliem. 

They  went  forward  rapidly  for  several  hours ; 
when,  seeing  nothing  to  indicate  that  they 
were  any  nearer  to  the  retreating  party  than 
thev  had  been  at  tirst.  Roger--  intimated  that 
the  circumstances  would  not  justify  any  I'arther 
pursuit,  and  ordered  a_  halt,  for  a  short  rest, 
before  starting  to  return. 

The  disappointment  of  some  of  the  men 
was  shown  by  the  remarks  they  made  in  their 
commander's  hearing;  whereupon  Rt.gers, 
having  remained  silent  till  they  had  freely 
expressed  their  opinions,  turned  to  them,  and 
said  that  his  duty  would  not  allow  him  to  go 
farther;  but  if  Warner,  to  whom  he  now  ad- 
dressed   himself   directly,    from     his     bavin 


and  the  trail  they  followed  grew  so  fresh  to- 
wards night  that  they  were  assured  they  were 
overhauling  the  Indians,  and  that  they  could 
not  be  very  far  ahead  of  them. 

In  that  dark  fo'-est  the  shades  of  night  were 
gathering  around  them  even  before  the  sun 
had  set.°  But  when  they  thought  they  had 
seen  the  last  r.ays  of  the  great  luminary  for 
that  day,  they  came  suddenly  in  sight  of  an 
opening  in  the  trees  before  them,  and  in  anoth- 
er moment  stood  upon  the  bank  of  a  shallow 
stream  of  water,  of  some  twenty  yards  in 
breadth.  The  stream  flowed  from  the  west- 
ward directly  towards  them;  but  where  they 
struck  it  its  course  was  turned  southward,  al- 


expressed  his  mind  the   most  freely,  chose  to  J  most  at  a  right  angle  with  its  previous  course. 


2ZO 


ON    THE    WAR    PATH. 


It  seemed  to  come  down  in  nearly  a  strnii,'iit 
line  from  the  west,  tlie  opening  which  itinade 
between  tlie  trees  cnalilinj,'  tlieni  to  see  the 
sun.  now  showerin'j  his  last  uoKlen  rays  full 
upon  them,  just  descending  behinil  a  ranue 
ol"  forest-covered  hills. 

Those  cheering  rays,  coming  upon  them  so 
unexpectedly,  at  such  an  hour,  inspired  them 
with  a  belief  that  they  would  succeed  in  sav- 
ing their  friends'  life;  and,  tilled  with  the  sud- 
den faith,  they  stood  almost  indilVerent  as  to 
whether  they  were  seen  by  any  lurking  foe, 
till  the  last  inspiring  ray  was  quenched  by  the 
dark  gray  hills  before  tliem. 

Thev  knew  that  the   Indians  would  be  sure 
to  improve  such  an  opportunity  to  blind  their  j 
trail.      The    water  was   so   shallow   that    one 
could  wado  in  it  almost  anywhere;  and  a  very 
slij^ht  inspection  showeil  that  the  Indians  had 
entered    it   at    the    point    where    they    stood. 
Whether  they   had  gone   up   or  down   was   a 
question  thev  had  no  means  of  deciding  with- 
out following;   and  they  were  perplexed  as  to 
which  way  they  should  go.    After  a  little  rea- 
soning,   it  seemed   to   them   that  the  Indians 
would  take   the   course   which   their  pursuers 
would  be  most  unlikely  to  follow,  if  their  ob- 
ject was  to  escape  from  them  altogether;  and 
as  that  would  be   down   the   .stream,  they  fol- 
lowed along  its  bank  to  the  southward.    They 
moved  cautiously,  looking  warily  around  them 
at  every  few  yards,  for  now  they  were  more  lia- 
ble than  before  to  come  upon  a  foe  at  any  mo- 
ment.     For    the    last    hour   before    they  had 
reached  the  stream,  the  trail  had  been  as  fresh 
as  if  iust  made:   and  if  the  Indians  had  gone 
down  it,  they  were  confident  they  would  come? 
upon  them  encamped  not  very  far  below.    By 
the  time  they  had  gone  a  mile,  it  had  got  to 
be  so  dark  that  tiiey  could  not  distinguish  ob- 
iects  at  any  great  distance,  especially  among 
the  trees;  and  they  were  obliged  to  move  even 
more  cautiously  than  before. 

Thev  were  determined  to  come  up  with  the 
savages,  if  possible,  before  resting;  and  they 
kept  on.  though  the  darkness  made  their  way 
difficult  and  slow.  At  last  they  detected  a 
faint  glow  of  light,  deep  in  the  woods  to  the 
left;  and,  at'ter rvatching  it  for  a  moment,  they 
turned  their  steps  in  that  direction.  It  was 
not  so  far  otT  as  they  had  expected.  .Suddenly 
thej'  came  in  full  view  of  an  Indian  camp, 
having  ascended  a  slight  ridge  that  hid  it  iVom 
view,  and  saw.  as  on  the  night  before,  several 
fires,  with  the  Indians  engaged  in  various  ways 
around  them. 

They  looked  for  the  prisoners,  and  were 
greatly  relieved  to  see  them  still  alive,  sitting 


upright,  with  their  arms  boimd  behind  them, 
and  no  preparation  being  made  for  their  tor- 
ture, that  they  could  discover.  They  could 
not  account  for  this,  except  by  supposing  that 
the  Indians  had  decided  to  reserve  their  pris- 
oners for  some  other  purpose,  or,  perhap-.  till 
they  could  invent  some  new  manner  of  torture 
that  they  had  never  yet  practised. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  find  that  tlT"  prison- 
ers were  alive,  and.  apparently,  in  no  immedi- 
ate danger;  and  the  fact  fully  coiifirmed  them 
in  the  belief  that  they  would  finally  accom- 
plish their  rescue.  To  attempt  it  openly 
woulil  most  certainly  insure  their  own  death; 
and  thev  could  only  wait  for  some  favorable 
opportunity  to  reach  them  without  being  ob- 
served. It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance,  prob- 
ably, that  the  prisoners  sat  by  themselves,  so 
far  from  the  fires  that  they  were  not  in  their 
full  glare,  and  on  the  side  nearest  to  the  two 
scouts. 

Whatever  fate  was  in   reserve   for  the  pris- 
oners, it  was  quite  certain   they   were   not  to 
meet  it  that  night.     There  were  no  fires  burn- 
ing except  those  which  the  Indians  were  sit- 
ting around,  and  no  preparation   for  any  that 
could  be  seen.     The  scouts  placed  themselves 
where  they  would  not  be    likely  to   be   discov- 
ered, and  remained,  watching  the  movements 
of  the   Indians.      They   were   lying  tiat  upon 
the  ground,  close  to  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree, 
with  their  heads  raised  above  it,  and  had  not 
been  there  very  long  before  a  solitary  Indian 
—  a  guard,  probably,  to  warn  the  others  of  the 
appro  ich   of  an   enemy  —  came   up  so  noise- 
lessly that   they   hardly   heard    him.   and   sat 
down    upon    the   fallen   tree,    not  twenty  feet 
from  them.     Had  they  been  on. the  other  side 
of  it,  he  would  certainly  have  discovered  them, 
for  he  sat  with  his  face  towards  the  firts,  upon 
which   he  gazed    for  some   time,   a   little   too 
'  careless  of  whatmight  be  behind  him  to  make 
a  safe   guard.      The   scouts   hugged   the  log 
;  closely,    hardly  breathing,   for   fear   that    he 
might  hear  them.     Very  fortunately,  there  was 
no  moon  shining;    and  the  bright  rays  of  the 
'  fires  would   naturally  blind   the   Indian's  eyes 
:  to  things  that  were  so  immediately  in  the  shad- 
ow of  the  log.     And  so  it  liappened  that,  after 
sitting  for  a  time,  the  Indian  got  up  and  moved 
awav   as   noiselessly   as   he    had  come,    never 
seeing  them. 

When  he  had  gone,  the  scouts  raised  their 
heads  again,  and  saw  the  fires  burning  low, 
and  some  of  the  Indians  already  stretching 
themselves  out  upon  the  ground,  with  their 
feet  towards  them,  to  sleep;  two  or  three  went 
i  away  into  the  darkness,  in  dilierent  directions, 


J. 


I  beliiiul  tlietn, 
I  for  their  tor- 
.  They  could 
siippnsin<»  tliat 
M"ve  their  pris- 
)r,  perliap'..  till 
nncr  of  tortiiri; 
cd. 

hat  tlT-  prison- 
ill  no  imnioili- 
:onfirmcd  thoni 
finally  accoin- 
mpt  it  openly 
cir  own  death  ; 
some  favorable 
hout  being  ob- 
imstance.  prob- 
themselves.  so 
re  not  in  their 
rest  to  the  two 

e  for  the  pris- 
ey  were  not  to 
e  no  fires  burii- 
idians  were  sit- 
in  for  any  that 
iced  themselves 
y  to   be   discov- 

the  movements 
Ivinjj  tlat  ii|ion 
of  a  fallen  tree, 
it,  and  had  not 

solitary  Indian 
the  others  of  the 
le  up  so  noise- 
1  Iiim.  and  sat 
not  twenty  feet 
n.the  other  side 
iiscovered  then), 
is  the  firts,  upon 
me,  a  little  too 
ind  him  to  make 
hugged  the  log 
)r  fear  that  he 
nately,  there  was 
right  rays  of  the 
le  Indian's  e3-es 
itely  in  the  shad- 
pened  that,  after 
;ot  up  and  moved 
lad  come,   never 

)uts  raised  their 
es  burning  low, 
ready  stretching 
ound,  with  their 
wo  or  three  went 
ferent  directions, 


ON    THE    WAR    rATlI. 


231 


with  their  arms  in  their  hands,  probably  to 
increase  the  number  of  guards  around  the 
camp  ;  and  others  approached  the  prisoners,  to 
make  them  more  secure,  it  was  soon  evident, 
for  the  night.  This  was  done  by  extending 
them  upon  the  ground,  with  a  pliant  young 
sapling  across  the  body  of  each.  Four  power- 
ful savages  then  laid  themselves  down  by  the 
prisoners,  upon  the  ends  of  the  polos,  making 
it  impossible  for  them  to  attempt  to  rise  with- 
out its  being  known.  Wlu-n  the  prisoners 
had  been  thus  occurcd,  the  fires  were  replen- 
ished, so  that  they  would  not  soon  go  out, 
and  then  all  the  other  Indians  that  were  in 
sigl-.t  stretched  themselves  upon  the  ground 
around  them  to  sleep. 

Warner  and  my  grandfather  were  fully  ser- 
sible  of  their  own  perilous  situation,  and  they 
could  see  little  chance  of  releasing  their  friends 
without  arousing  those  who  were  at  their 
sides.  While  they  watched  the  sleeping  In- 
dians, and  saw  the  fires  burn  out  and  sink 
to  smouldering  embers,  they  consulted  togeth- 
er in  whispers  as  to  what  they  could  do. 

There  was  but  one  w.ay,  and  they  would 
have  avoided  that  way  had  it  been  possible. 
It  was  to  creep  upon  those  swarthy  men  who 
held  the  prisoners  so  securely  between  them, 
and  plunge  their  knives  into  their  hearts.  They 
consulted  long  whether  to  do  it.  There  was 
no  altern.itive,  except  to  creep  away,  beyond 
the  guards,  and  leave  the  prisoners  to  their 
fate.  That  was  not  to  be  thought  of;  and  they 
decided  to  do  the  first,  though  they  well  under- 
stood that  unless  their  first  blows  were  true, 
their  own  lives  would  pay  the  forfeit.  They 
could  only  deal  with  two  at  a  time;  and  even 
a  slight  rustling  might  disturb  the  others,  and 
insure  their  own  death.  But  they  could  not 
forsake  their  friends,  and  the  attempt  was  re- 
solved on.  They  might  be  discovered  by  the 
guards,  but  they  must  venture. 

The  fires  had  burned  so  low  that  the  light 
they  gave  did  not  greatly  endanger  them,  while 
it  served  to  show  them  clearly  where  the  pris- 
oners were.  Hugging  the  ground  closely,  with 
their  knives  in  their  hands,  —  they  had  left 
their  rifles  by  the  side  of  the  log,  as  being 
worse  than  useless  at  such  a  time,  —  they 
drew  forward  so  slowly  and  cautiously  that, 
even  if  any  wakeful  savage  had  been  looking 
towards  them,  he  would  hardly  have  noticed 
them. 

They  came  within  reach  of  their  intended 
victims,  each  being  at  the  side  of  one  of  the 
Indians  who  guarded  Robinson.  Robinson 
was  awake;  and  when  they  raised  themselves 
that  they  might  the  bftterdeal  the  fatal  blows. 


I  thev  saw  his  eyes  turned  upon  them.    Though 
he  recognized  them,  he  remained   motionless, 
understanding  their  purpose.      Their   knives 
were  pointed  at  the  lives  of  the  two  who  were 
beneath   them  ;   and  when  Warner  whispered, 
"Strike!"  they  descended,   producing  only  a 
straightening  of  the   forms  and  quivering  of 
the    muscles    of    those    ivhoin    they    touched. 
Without   another  whisper,   they  passed  to  the 
sides  of  the   others,  a   few  yards    distant,  ami 
buried  their  knives  in  them  in   the  same  way. 
so  silently  that  the  prisoner,  who  was  sleeping 
between  them,  did  not  awake.     Uending  down, 
Warner  whispered  the  man's   name  in  his  ear, 
at  the  same  time  shaking  him  gently.      In  an 
instant   he  was  aroused,  and   understood  who 
was  near  him.  and   in  another  the   pole   that 
h.ad    held    him    prostrate    was    removed,    his 
thongs  were  cut,  and  he  was  free. 

Instantly  he  had  dealt  the  last  blow,  my 
grandfather  returned  to  Robinson,  and  re- 
leased him.  With  only  a  whispered  word  of 
acknowledgment  by  the  liberated  man,  the  vo 
crawled  away  together  towards  the  fallen  log. 
They  all  reached  it  safely;  and,  recovering  the 
rifles,  they  crawled  forward  in  the  darkest 
I'epths  of  the  woods,  in  the  same  way,  till  they 
felt  sure  they  were  beyond  the  Indian  out- 
posts, when  they  rose  to  their  feet,  and  hur- 
ried forward  by  the  same  route  over  which 
thev  had  come.  They  had  at  least  half  the 
night  before  them;  and,  as  the  Indians  would 
no"  be  likely  to  start  in  pursuit  till  daylight, 
if  they  should  pursue  at  all.— of  which  they 
had  some  doubt,  —  they  had  little  fear  of  being 
overtaken. 

Whether  they  were  pursued  or  not.  they 
never  knew,  for  they  reached  the  fort,  and  re- 
joined the  Rangers,  on  the  second  morning 
after,  without  having  seen  any  more  Indians. 
And  no  one  congratulated  more  heartily  than 
did  Rogers  himself,  who  ever  after  entertained 
a  high  regard  for  both  Warner  and  my  grand- 
father, showing  it  on  several  occasions  by  send- 
ing them  on  expeditions  which  he  would  not 
willingly  intrust  to  others  of  his  command. 


i 


f    ! 


A    STORY    OF    TIIF,     OLDRN    TIME. 


"  My  Grandfather  raised  his  Rifle,  and  fired."     I'age  322. 


A  STOEY  OP  T-TE  OLDEN  TIME. 

BY  J.   H.  W. 

'\T7'^»'iN  my  grandfather  was  t\vent3--one, 
'  •  he  married  Mary  Harnes,  wlio  was 
eigliteen.  This  was  a  little  more  than  one 
hundred  and  twenty  years  ago. 

Mary  was  the  daughter  of  Squire  Barnes, 
who  lived  in  Brookfield;  and  when  my  grand- 
father married  her,  he  drew  her  heme  —  a 
part  of  the  way  at  least  —  on  a  liand-sled, 
over  the  frozen  snow  up  into  the  wilderness 
ten  miles  north,  wliere  he  had  taken  u|)  land 
and  built  a  log  house,  that  he  might  have  for 
himself  and  Mary  a  home.  It  would  have 
been  a  lonely,  solemn  nlaee  for  one  alone ; 
tirr  there  was  nothing  but  a  dark,  silent  forest 
around,  and  they  were  miles  from  any  other 
settler.  But  being  together,  they  passed  a 
very  pleasant  winter,  —  having  been  married 
on  New  Year's ;  and  when  s].ring  came,  my 
grandfather  had  so  large  a  clearing  that  he 
was  able  to  begin  the  cultivation  of  a  little 
land. 

It  was  somewhat  romantic — the  way  in  which 
they  lived;  but.  after  all.  there  are  not  many 
who  would  prefer  to  live  so.  The  only  neigh- 
bors they  saw  much  of  that  first  winter  were  the 
wild  animals  that  lived  in  the  forest  around. 


They  did  not  see  them  often  in  the  d.\v, 
though  sometimes  a  fox  would  stop  for  a  mo- 
ment to  look  at  them,  ar  he  went  past  in  the 
edge  of  the  still  uncut  timber.  But  during 
the  long  hours  of  night  they  would  often  hear 
the  voices  of  these  forest  neighbors  breaking 
weirdly  upon  the  solemn  stillness;  though, 
with  strong  walls  around  them  and  shutters 
closed,  and  a  wooden  bar  across  the  door, 
they  had  no  reason  to  fear  them. 

One  night,  however,  thoy  were  a  little  fright- 
ened. The  snows  had  fallen  deep  that  winter, 
and  had  so  drifted  around  the  house  that  upon 
the  back  side,  where  there  were  no  windows, 
it  reached  to  the  low  eaves.  They  were  sitting 
before  the  fire  on  the  night  I  have  in  mind, 
talking  of  their  future,  —  building  little  air- 
castles,  as  even  married  folks  sometimes  will 
—  and  were  all  unmindful  of  anything  but 
themselves,  when,  suddenly,  they  were  star- 
tled by  the  sound  of  footsteps,  moving  cau- 
tiously upon  the  roof  above  them. 

Mary's  heart  leaped,  and  my  grandfather's 
voice  was  instantly  hushed.  They  listened, 
breathless,  and  heard  those  cautious  footsteps 
moving  about  upon  the  roof.  Who  could  it 
be?  Mary's  first  thought  was,  Indians;  and 
she  whispered  it  to  my  grandfather.  "  No," 
he  replied,  "it  cannot  be  Indians;   they  are 


■'4 


i  322- 

jften  in  the  day, 
)uld  stop  for  a  nio- 
le  went  past  in  the 
Tiber.  15ut  during 
y  would  often  hear 
leighbors  breaking 

stillness;  though, 
tliciii  and  shutters 
-  across  the  door, 
them. 

were  a  little  fright- 
n  deep  that  winter, 
he  house  that  upon 

were  no  windows, 
They  were  sitting 
ht  I  have  in  mind, 
building  little  air- 
Iks  sometimes  will 
il  of  anything  but 
ly,  they  were  star- 
steps,  moving  cau- 
re  them. 

id  my  grandfather's 
id.  They  listened, 
,e  cautious  footsteps 
oof.  Who  could  it 
;  was,  Indians;  and 
randfather.  "  No," 
i  Indians;   they  are 


THE    FASHIONS    OV    THE    OI.DEN     TIME. 


1 

n 

• 

1 

1           ' 

■ 

' 

1 ' 

I    f    I ! 

•          - 

A    STORY    OF    THE    OLDEN    TIME. 


335 


all  at  pence  with  (is  now.  and  there  are  none 
within  a  long  way,  except  the  Nipniiicks,  and 
of  course  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from  them. 
It  cannot  he  Indians." 

In  a  moment  more  there  seemed  to  be  two 
persons  movini;  ahont  npon  the  roof,  and  thoy 
became  boldi..',  and  made  more  noise.  Then 
my  grandfather  said  he  would  lind  out  what 
was  there;  and  thoujjh  Mary  strove  to  dis- 
fciiado  him,  lie  rose  and  took  il  )wn  his  rilk-, 
made  sure  that  it  was  char},'ed,  unbarred  the 
door,  opened  it,  and  went  out.  Tliou>;h  Mary 
woulil  have  prevented  him,  she  wouhl  not  let 
him  fjo  alone;  and,  taking;  up  the  axe  that 
was  lying  in  a  corner,  siiu  kopt  near  to  him. 

The  moon  was  sliininjL;  upon  the  white  snow, 
making  it  so  light  that  they  could  see  every- 


LeaWng  home  to  fight  the  Indians. 

thing  about  the  house  distinctly.  Going  but 
a  few  steps  in  front  of  it,  they  were  enabled  to 
see  two  large  wolves,  standing  with  their  fore- 
feet upon  the  ridge,  looking  at  them  as  if  they 
wondered  who  they  were.  Without  a  word, 
or  a  moment's  hesitation,  my  grandfather 
raised  his  rifle,  and  fired,— effectually  quieting 
the  curiosity  of  one  of  them,  and  so  frighten- 
ing the  other  that  he  suddenly  disappeared. 

My  grandfather  drew  down  the  dead  one, 
and  placed  liim  where  he  would  not  freeze  till 
morning,  as  he  wished  to  save  his  skin;  and 
then  they  passed  the  remainder  of  the  night 
undisturbed. 

Wolves  were  very  common  in  the  forests  in 
those  times;  and  not  only  wolves,  but  bears. 
m 


My  grandfather  had  a  way  of  taking  these  Inut 
in  pits,  which  he  dug,  and  covered  slightly,  »o 
that  they  would  not  be  noticed  ;  then  formed 
a  triangular  enclosure  leading  to  them,  and 
placed  a  tempting  bait  so  that  it  could  he 
reached  only  by  going  over  the  pit.  Hut  he 
did  not  spend  much  time  in  this  way  till  lie 
had  got  his  little  farm  well  utartcd,  and  had 
cornfields,  which  the  bears  used  to  like  to 
visit.  The  bears  did  not  trouble  him  much  at 
first,  and  he  did  nr>t  mind  them  much. 

My  grandfather  had  been  married  but  a  few 
years  when  the  French  and  Indian  war  broke 
out;  and  then,  with  two  or  three  more  young 
men  who  had  settled  within  a  few  miles  of 
him,  he  enlisted  in  a  company  known  as 
Roger's  Rangers,  and  went  towards  Canada 
to  fight  the  Indians.  It  was  hard  for  Mary  to 
part  with  him,  to  go  on  such  a  dangerous  ser- 
vice, far  away  into  the  wilderness,  where  she 
could  not  hear  from  him  for  months  together; 
but  she  said  he  might  go,  and  she  would  take 
care  of  the  children  and  of  the  little  farm 
alone  while  he  was  away.  They  had  two  chil- 
dren then,  a  girl  and  a  boy;  little  Alice,  the 
oldest,  being  about  live  years  of  age. 

My  grandfather  finished  the  "spring's 
work''  bei'ore  he  went  away;  that  is,  he  had 
the  corn  planted,  and  all  the  crops  that  he  in- 
tended to  raise  that  season  fairly  started. 
Mary  thought  she  could  attend  to  the  cultiva- 
tion of  them  alone,  and  do  the  most  of  the 
harvesting  in  the  fall.  She  had  a  cow,  and  a 
horse,  or  a  mare,  rather, — but  a  mare  \.<  a 
horse,  I  suppose,  —  and  two  "ice  shotes.  She 
was  sure  she  could  take  care  of  these,  and  hoe 
and  harvest  the  crops,  all  but  the  hay;  and  a 
neighbor,  who  was  not  going  to  the  war, 
agreed  to  do  the  h.iying,  and  assist  her  in 
anything  she  could  not  accomplish  herself. 

So  my  grandfather  kissed  Mary  and  the 
children,  one  bright  morning,  swung  his  knap- 
sack upon  his  b.ack,  shouldered  his  rifle,  and 
took  the  path  through  the  woods  that  led  to 
the  rendezvous  where  he  was  to  join  the  oth- 
ers who  were  going  with  him.  Then  Mary 
sat  down  in  her  op^n  doorway,  feeling  as  if 
her  pleasant  home  had  suddenly  L'come  des- 
olate. Her  nearest  neighbor,  and  the  one  who 
was  going  to  do  the  h.iying,  was  a  mile  away, 
and  there  were  none,  except  her  children, 
whom  she  could  see,  or  to  whom  she  could 
speak,  without  going  that  distance.  Of  course 
she  loved  my  grandfather  very  much,  or  she 
would  never  have  gone  up  into  the  wilderness 
with  him  in  the  way  she  did;  and  now  that 
he  was  gone,  she  feared  that  she  would  never 
see  him  again  alive,  and  her  heart  was  verj- 


;3 


\i<  I 


226 


A    STORY    OF    THE    OLDEN    TIME. 


I    i 


I!- 
i! 


heavy.  But  she  was  not  a  woman  to  repine 
long  —  to  sit  anci  weep  when  it  would  do  no 
good;  and,  rising  up,  she  kissed  the  children 
in  a  way  she  had  never  kissed  them  before, 
and  went  about  her  work. 

The  summer  passed  away,  and  Mary  .iccom- 
plished  al!  that  she  had  proposed  to  do.  Win- 
Jer  came  on,  but  it  found  her  well  prepared. 
The  neighbor,  Captain  Green,  had  got  the  hay, 
assisted  her  some  in  harvesting  the  other 
crops,  killed  and  packed  one  of  the  shotes  in 
her  pork  barrel,  and  had  cut  and  drawn  to  her 
door  a  great  pile  ot  wood,  enough  to  last  her 
all  winter.  She  had  heard  from  my  grand- 
father several  times,  and  knew  that  he  had 
been  frequently  imperilled  by  skirmishes  with 
the  Indians,  and  once  had  narrowly  escaped 
being  captured  by  them  ;  but  she  did  not  know 
when  she  might  expect  his  return,  and  thought 
it  probable  he  might  be  gone  all  wintev. 

The  snows  came  early,  and  they  soon  accu- 
mulated to  a  great  depth.  I  think  there  is  no 
question  but  that  they  had  more  snow  in  those 
old  times  than  we  have  now.  Even  since  I 
can  remember,  the  snows  used  to  be  deeper 
and  remain  longer  than  they  do  now;  at  least 
it  seems  so  to  me.  But  Mary  had  everything 
she  needed  close  at  hand;  and  after  every 
storm.  Captain  Green  would  come  with  his  ox- 
team,  to  break  out  a  road  to  her  house,  and 
learn  how  she  was  getting  along. 

The  cold  was  severe,  also,  that  wintior,  and 
it  is  probable  that  the  wild  animals  in  the 
Woods  suffered  some  in  consequence.  One 
night,  about  the  last  of  December,  Mary  was 
sitting  before  her  cheerful  fire,  all  alone,  the 
children  having  been  snugly  tucked  away  in 
their  little  bed.  It  must  have  been  past  nine 
o'clock;  but  how  late  it  was,  Mary  had  no 
means  of  knowing.  She  had  no  clock;  and 
only  when  the  sun  shone  could  .she  tell  the 
/lour  it  marked  upon  the  pewter  dial  that  was 
nailed  upon  the  top  of  a  post  before  the  house. 

Mary  sat  before  the  fire  that  night,  not 
asleep,  but  dreaming.  Perhaps  some  would 
say  musing,  but  I  call  it  dreaming;  for  she 
was  almost  unconscious  of  the  thoughts  that 
came  and  went  as  she  sat  motionless,  looking 
into  the  glowing  embers  of  the  sinking  fire. 
Now  and  then  they  would  flicker  up  into  new 
flame,  and  sink  again,  showing  her  many 
shapes  and  forms,  as  it  were,  among  which 
she  could  sec  red-coated  troops,  gray-clothed 
rangers,  and  swarthy  savages,  with  the  bright- 
colored  blankets,  that  had  been  used  to  buy 
them  over  ti-  the  enemy,  aroi:nd  their  shoul- 
ders. She  could  s^e  the  gleam  of  muskets, 
sometimes  in  long  lines,  and  then  in  the  hands 


of  those  vho  were  stealthily  approaching  to 
ambush  some  unsuspecting  party  who  were 
sitting  carelessly  around  their  camp-fires.  The 
muskets  would  rattle,  the  startled  men  would 
spring  to  their  feet,  in  the  midst  of  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  which  enveloped  them  so  quickly  that 
she  could  never  learn  their  fate.  Such  were 
the  things  which  Mary  saw  in  the  d^ing  fire, 
and  which  held  her  entranced,  because,  among 
those  forms  that  came  and  went,  she  so  often 
recognized  my  grandfather. 

It  may  be  that  she  was  almost  asleep,  — yet 
I  do  not  think  she  was  quite,  — when  she  was 
startled  by  a  sound  that  made  her  heart  leap, 
and  instantly  aroused  all  her  drowsy  senses. 
The  sound  came  from  the  stable;  and  it  was 
the  voice  of  the  mare,  raised  in  such  a  cry  of 
terror  as  she  had  never  heard  before.  It  was 
one  fearful  shriek,  breaking  wildly  into  the 
silence  of  the  night,  which  was  the  same  again 
as  soon  as  it  was  uttered. 

Mary  sat  motionless  and  almost  breathless, 
waiting  a  repetition  of  the  fearful  sound.  A 
moment  passed,  and  another  wild  cry  of  terror 
raised  her,  without  any  conscious  effort  of  her 
own,  to  her  feet.  But  she  moved  no  farther, 
standing  as  motionless  and  breathless  as  be- 
fore. A  third  cry  soon  came;  but  Mary  could 
hear  no  other  sound,  and  she  stood  still,  won- 
dering what  it  could  be  that  so  frightened  her 
mare,  but  fearing  to  go  out  to  see. 

She  stood,  irresolute  what  to  do;  but  no 
more  sounds  came,  till  perhaps  five  minutes 
had  passed ;  and  then  the  cr3'  was  not  from 
Jennie,  but  from  her  sow,  which  she  had  left 
at  sundown  reposing  in  her  sty,  a  little  lean-to 
structure  built  against  one  end  of  the  barn. 
In  a  moment  her  quick  mind  comprehended 
the  situation.  That  prolonged  squeal  —  it  was 
still  piercing  the  night-air  —  told  that  some 
prowler  of  the  forest  had  beeii  crying  to  enter 
the  stable,  thus  frightening  the  mare;  but, 
having  failed  in  that,  had  finall3-  found  the 
warm  sty  of  her  sow,  and  intruded  therein,  for 
the  purpose,  of  course,  of  taking  the  life  of, 
and  satisfying  its  hunger  on,  the  porcine  dame. 
It  was  all  clear  no-v,  and  she  hesitated  no 
longer  what  to  do. 

The  night  was  dark,  for  clouds  had  been 
gathering,  and  she  had  said  to  herself,  when 
she  was  doing  her  chores,  that  more  snow  was 
coming.  But,  without  minding  the  darkness, 
she  unbarred  the  door,  grasped  the  axe,  and 
went  out,  carefully  closing  the  door  behind 
her.  The  cries  of  her  sow  were  urgent,  and 
she  sped  towards  the  rail  enclosure  that  sur- 
rounded the  sty,  over  which  she  clambered, 
and  stood  by  the  low  door  —  to  enter  which 


A    STORY    OF    THE    OLDEN    TIME. 


ly  approaching  to 
;  party  who  were 
ircainp-fives.  The 
tartlcd  tuen  would 
lidst  of  a  cloud  of 
3m  so  quickly  that 
fate.  Such  were 
in  the  dying  fire, 
d,  because,  among 
went,  she  so  often 

most  asleep,  —  yet 
;,  —  when  she  was 
de  her  heart  leap, 
er  drowsy  senses, 
stable  ;  and  it  was 
id  in  such  a  cry  of 
rd  before.  It  was 
g  wildly  into  the 
vas  the  same  again 

almost  breathless, 
fearful  sound.  A 
r  wild  cry  of  terror 
scious  effort  of  her 
moved  no  farther, 
d  breathless  as  be- 
le ;  but  Mary  could 
le  stood  still,  won- 
it  so  frightened  her 
;  to  see. 

>at  to  do;  but  no 
rhaps  five  minutes 
!  cry  was  not  from 
which  she  had  left 
■  sty,  a  little  lean-to 
E  end  of  the  barn, 
ind  comprehended 
ged  squeal  —  it  was 
r  —  told  that  some 
leei)  crying  to  enter 
ig  the  mare;  but, 
1  finally  found  the 
ntrudod  therein,  for 
taking  the  life  of, 
1,  the  porcine  dame. 
.1   she   hesitated   no 

r  clouds  had  been 
lid  to  herself,  when 
;hat  more  snow  was 
iding  the  darkness, 
asped  the  axe,  and 
g  the  door  behind 
w  were  urgent,  and 
enclosure  that  sur- 
ich  she  clambered, 
ir  —  to  enter  which 


wou.d  imperil  her  life.  She  hesitated,  and 
could  see  no  way  to  help  the  poor  animal, 
whose  calls  were  growing  fainter  with  every 
expiring  breath.  She  could  at  least  avenge 
her  death  ;  and  she  waited  by  the  low  door, 
with  upraised  axe,  till  the  forest  prowler  should 
appear. 

The  cries  ceased,  and  for  a  time  there  was  a 
shuflSing  and  "  suffling."  showing  that  ti<e  ani- 
mal, whatever  it  was,  was  gorging  itself  upon 
the  body  of  its  victim.  At  last  this  ceased, 
and  then  a  diu-k  form  emerged  suddenly 
through  the  door.  The  ready  axe  descended, 
and  the  dark  form  settled  and  remained  at 
Mary's  feet.  But  another  followed,  so  quickly 
that  she  had  not  time  to  raise  her  axe  for  a 
second  blow  before  it  leaped  the  fence  and  was 


'  Slie  stoixi  irresolute." 


gone.  They  were  wolves,  she  was  sure;  but 
it  was  so  dark  that  she  could  not  see  them 
plainly.  The  strength  that  had  supported  her 
seemed  almost  .gone;  and,  without  delaying 
another  moment,  she  got  back  over  the  fence, 
and  returned  into  the  house,  dropping  the 
cross-bar  into  lis  sockets  wlien  she  had  closed 
the  door,  and  simk  down  by  her  children's 
bedside.  Then  she  sougl-.t  new  strength  from 
a  Source  that  never  fails;  and  having  found 
it,  she  made  her  usual  preparations,  and  re- 
tired for  the  night. 

The  next  morning,  before  d.iylight  had  ap- 
peared, the  fire  was  crackling  and  blazing 
upon  her  hearth,  and  she  was  busied  in  pre- 
paring her  own  and  the  children's  breakfast. 


The  daylight  was  longer  in  coming  on  account 
of  the  thick  clouds;  but,  as  soon  as  she  could 
see  outside,  she  went  to  the  scene  of  the  last 
night's  conflict,  and  there  she  saw  a  large, 
gaunt  wolf,  lying  stark  and  stiff,  just  as  he 
had  fallen  by  her  axe.  Looking  within  the 
sty,  she  saw  her  sow,  also  stiff  and  cold,  but 
not  so  badly  mangled  as  she  had  expected.  If 
she  could  but  get  Captain  Green  and  his  man 
to  come  over,  they  could  still  save  the  greater 
part  of  it,  and  her  loss  would  not  be  so  great; 
and,  though  a  storm  was  threatening,  she  re- 
solve '  to  start  for  his  house  as  scon  as  she 
should  have  cared  for  her  other  animals,  and 
given  the  children  their  breakfast. 

She  seldom  left  the  children  alone  longer 
than  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  be  engaged 
at  the  barn ;  but  Alice  was  old  enough,  she 
thought,  to  be  safely  left  in  charge  of  Benny 
till  she  could  go  to  herneighbor's  and  return; 
and  she  set  out  as  early  as  possible,  not  ex- 
pecting to  be  away  more  than  two  hours  at 
the  longest.  An  hour  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient, had  the  walking  been  good  ;  but  only  a 
sled  track  had  been  made  through  the  deep 
snow,  and  her  progress  would  be  slow  and 
difficult. 

The  clouds  were  white  and  fleecy,  and  hang- 
ing low;  and  hardly  h;'d  she  left  her  door,  be- 
fore the  snow-flakes  began  to  fall,  drifting 
before  a  light  wind  that  was  coming  irom  the 
eastward.  She  hurried,  that  she  might  return 
before  the  storm  should  be  very  bad;  and  it 
was  but  a  few  moments  till  she  was  out  of 
sight  of  her  house,  the  snow-flakes  coming 
thicker  and  thicker,  and  the  wind  rapidly  in- 
creasing in  force.  The  walking  was  hard,  and 
tlie  falling  snow,  drifting  across  and  settling 
into  the  track,  was  making  it  continually 
harder.  But  she  hurried  forward,  till  she  was 
finally  compelled  to  stop  for  a  moment  through 
sheer  exhaustion.  Then  she  realized  more 
clearly  how  fast  the  storm  was  increasing. 
The  air  was  so  filled  with  the  driving  snow, 
that  she  could  see  nothing  beyond  a  few  yards 
from  her,  and  the  tr.nck  had  filled  so  fast 
that  it  was  hardly  distinguishable.  Turning 
to  look  towards  home,  from  which  direction 
the  storm  came,  she  was  so  blinded  by  it  that 
she  could  sec  nothing  clearly,  and  she  was 
frightened. 

Then  Mary  would  have  returned ;  but  she 
was  sure  she  had  gone  more  than  two  thirds 
of  the  distance,  and  it  would  be  easier  to  reach 
Captain  Green's  than  to  ^o  back.  She  doubt- 
ed whether  she  could  find  her  way  back;  for, 
as  I  have  said,  she  was  blinded  when  she  faced 
the  storm.     She  could  not  follow  the  track,  -^ 


328 


A    STORY    OF    THE    OLDEN    TIME. 


"  My  grandfather  pressed  Mary  in  his  arms." 


indeed,  there  was  none  that  was  of  any  service 
as  a  footway  now,  —  and  she  would  be  as  like- 
ly to  go  wrong  as  right.  She  was  frightened, 
not  ibr  herself,  but  for  her  children,  because 
ehe  felt  that  she  could  not  return  to  them. 

And  again  she  pressed  on,  increasing  the 
distance  that  was  between  her  and  those  little 
ones  to  whom  she  would  have  so  gladly  re- 
turned. She  had  not  gone  far,  however,  be- 
fore she  was  sure  she  had  strayed  from  the 
track;  she  could  see  it  no  longer,  and  she 
sank  so  deeply  at  every  step,  that  she  could 
scarce  proceed  at  all.  The  storm  was  contin- 
ually increasing,  and  now  raged  furiously. 
Almost  in  despair,  Mary  stood  for  a  moment 
in  the  midst  of  the  blinding  snow,  with  hands 
upraised  and  clasped,  imploring  God.  Then, 
as  if  stren^rthened,  she  again  pressed  on;  but 
whither,  she  knew  not. 

She  was  led  aright.  Struggling  forward  till 
she  could  hardly  go  farther,  she  saw  at  last, 
not  far  from  her,  a  dimly  defined  bank,  which 
proved  to  be  Captain  Green's  barn.  Then  she 
felt  safe;  but  again  she  implored  God  for  her 
children.  A  few  struggles  more  brought  her 
to  the  door  of  the  house ;  but  she  had  hardly 
itrength  to  open  it.  When  she  did,  and  ap- 
peared befc  re  the  captain's  family,  they  were 
filled  w:th  astonishment  and  alarm.  She  was 
like  a  statue  of  snow,  and  for  a  moment 
speechless. 

When  Mary  made  her  story  known,  both 
the  captain  and  his  wife  tried  to  assure  her 
that  the  children  would  be  safe,  though  they 
well  knew  that  no  human  being  could  reach 


them  till  the  storm  should  subside.  Mary  was 
grateful  for  their  good  intentions,  but  she 
understood  the  whole  matter  as  well  as  they, 
and  felt  that  she  must  trust  them  wholly  with 
Him  whom  she  had  already  besought.  Her 
hope  was,  that  the  storm  would  so  subside 
that  she  could  return  before  night;  and  know- 
ing that  it  was  almost  as  impossible  for  the 
captain  to  reach  her  house  as  for  herself,  she 
sat  down  to  wait. 

The  captain  was  a  man  of  more  means  than 
my  grandfather  possessed,  and  was  an  older 
man,  and  had  a  larger  family.  He  had  several 
sons  and  daughters,  and  some  of  them  were 
old  enough  to  be  of  much  assistance,  both  in 
the  house  and  out.  Besides,  he  kept  a  hired 
man,  and  he  had  two  yoke  of  strong  ixen  \n 
his  barn  ;  but  with  all  these  he  could  not  make 
his  way  to  Mary's  house  in  that  storm. 

It  was  a  dark  and  dreary  day  for  Mary.  But 
for  the  great  blazmg  fire  that  was  constantly 
going  in  the  wide  chimney,  the  large  family 
room  would  have  been  very  gloomy.  Even 
at  noon,  the  darkness  outside  was  like  the 
coming  on  of  night,  and  through  the  small 
window-panes  nothing  could  be  seen  but  the 
driving,  swirling  snow.  As  it  drew  towards 
the  middle  of  the  day,  Mrs.  Green  prepared 
for  dinner;  first,  by  hanging  upon  the  great 
crane  over  the  fire  a  large  iron  pot  half  filled 
with  water.  Then  she  sifted  a  quantity  of 
Indian  meal,  as  yellow  as  sands  of  gold;  and 
when  the  water  boiled,  she  called  one  of  the 
bo^'s  to  help  her;  and,  while  she  dropped  the 
meal  into  the  boiling  water,  a  little  at  a  time, 


A    STORY    OF    THE    OLDEN    TIME. 


>af 


..f-^ 


;.  Mary  was 
ns,  but  she 
well  as  they, 
wholly  with 
ought.  Her 
1  so  subside 
:;  and  know- 
sible  for  the 
■  herself,  she 

!  means  than 
,va8  an  older 
e  had  several 
)f  them  were 
iince,  both  in 

kept  a  hired 
rong  oxen  in 
uld  not  make 
storm. 

)r  Mary.  But 
as  constantly 

large  family 
oomy.  Even 
was  like  the 
gh  the  small 
I  seen  but  the 
drew  towards 
een  prepared 
)on  the  great 
pot  half  filled 
L  quantity  of 
of  gold ;  and 
;d  one  of  the 
e  dropped  the 
ttle  at  a  time, 


he  stirred  it  briskly  with  the  wooden  ladle. 
In  a  few  moments  the  meal  was  all  in  and  the 
stirring  completed,  when  the  crane  was  swung 
out,  and  the  pot  lifted  off.  The.i  its  contents 
—  as  nice  hasty-pudding  as  ever  was  eaten  — 
were  ladled  into  a  great  wooden  bowl,  and 
placed  upon  the  table,  by  the  side  of  another 
that  was  filled  with  milk;  pnd,  with  smaller 
bowls  of  wood,  or  basins  of  pewter,  and  spoons 
of  tlie  same  material,  the  family  drew  around 
and  helped  themselves.  Mary  had  no  heart 
to  eat;  but  the  captain  told  her  that  she  could 
bear  trouble  better  on  a  full  stomach,  and 
urged  her  to  partake.  To  satisfy  him,  she 
made  a  show  of  eating,  at  least;  and  when 
dinner  was  over,  she  sat  again  by  the  window, 
waiting  for  the  storm  to  subside. 

But  in  vain  was  her  waiting;   for  the  hours 
passed,  and  the  darkness  of  night  was  again 
over  the  earth,  and  still  the  storm  raged  as 
furiously  as  ever.     The  thick  clouds  and  the 
driving  storm  had  made  it  a  short  and  dismal 
day;    yet  to  Mary  it  had  seemed  very  long. 
When  night  came,  and  she  felt  that  those  little 
ones,  if  still  alive,  must  pass  it  alone,  she  was 
in  an  agony  of  mind,  and  she  almost  doubted 
whethe"-,   after  all,  God  was   that  kind   and 
protecting  P'ather  that  she  had  thought  him  to 
be.     Her  good  neighbors  strove  to  cheer  her, 
though  they  must  have  well  known  how  im- 
possible  the   task.      If  Msry's   children   had 
been  with  her,  that  fire-lit  room  would  indeed 
have  been  a  most  cheerful  one ;   for  there  the 
family   sat   encircling    the   broad   hearth   on 
which  the  logs  were  blazing  and  crackling, 
while    the    storm    could    be    heard    rushing 
through  the  yet  uncleared  forest  that  covered 
the  hills,  and,  brushing  around  the  walls  of 
the   house,    driving    the    snow   through    the 
cracks,    and   piling   it    against   the   window- 
panes;  and  anon  some  intercepted  gust  would 
whirl  and  roar  in  the  wide-mouthed  chimney, 
puffing  out  the  blaze  and  the  smoke  towards 
those  who  sat  below  in  the  cheerful  light  of 
the  fire.     But  all  this  only  increased  Mary's 
misery;  for  Alice  was  but  five  years  old,  and 
little  Benny  nnly  three.     If  no  other  accident 
should  hap_jcn   to  them,  their  fire  would  go 
out;  and  would  they  not  freeze?     What  if  the 
door  should    be    burst    open    by    the   driving 
wind,  and  the  wolves  —     She  could  not  bear 
to  think  of  it.     But  she  sat  with  the  family, 
and  tried  to  appear  cheerful. 

The  captain's  family  retired  early,  as  was 
the  custom  in  those  d.iys;  and  Mary  wore 
away  the  long,  sleepless  hours  of  niglit  upon 
a  low  bed,  close  up   under  the  roof,  where  it 


seemed  to  her  as  if  she  coulJ  almost  feel  the 
snow  which  she  heard  swirling  overhead.  She 
suffered  almost  beyond  endurance,  beseech- 
ing,  doubting,  hoping,  fearing;  sleep  there 
was  none  for  her. 

And  it  was  thus  till  the  midnight  hour  had 
passed ;  and  then,  she  thanked  God,  there  was 
a  lull.  The  winds  died  away,  and  the  roar  of 
the  storm  over  the  hills  sank  to  fitful  gusts; 
then  occasional  murmurings,  and  whisperings 
of  stray  waifs  on  the  roof  overhead  —  and  all 
was  still. 

She  knew  that  the  storm  had  passed,  and, 
rising  from  her  bed,  she  tried  to  peer  out  into 
the  night  through  the  little  window  that  svas 
in  the  gable  close  to  its  head.  The  snow  al- 
most covered  the  panes,  yet  she  could  see  stars 
glittering  above,  and  a  whitened  forest  below. 
She  strained  her  eyes  in  the  direction  of  her 
home,  but  all  she  could  see  was  the  white  robe 
that  covered  the  earth.  She  wanted  to  awaken 
the  family,  that  she  might  start  immediately 
towards  home;  but,  restraining  her  impa- 
tience, she  returned  to  her  bed,  and  there 
waited  the  usual  time  to  rise. 

Hours  before  the  sun  jippea-.ed,  every  mem- 
ber of  the  family  was  astir.  A  path  was  shov- 
elled to  the  barn,  the  oxen  fed,  the  sled  dug 
out,  and  everything  made  ready  to  start  as 
soon  as  breakfast  could  be  prepared  and  eaten. 
Before  daylight  had  fairly  dawned,  the  team 
was  hitched  up,  and  the  four  strong  oxen  drew 
the  sled,  with  Mary  and  the  boys  with  tb..Mr 
shovels  upon  it,  slowly  through  the  snow.  It 
was  heavy,  tedious  work,  and  the  team  had  to 
stop  often  to  rest;  when  all  but  Mary  would 
go  ahead  with  their  shovels,  to  break  and 
loosen  the  snow.  The  sun  rose  above  the  hills 
before  they  had  made  half  the  distance;  but, 
just  as  its  rays  struck  upon  them,  they  were 
surprised  to  see  a  thin  column  of  smoke  rising 
straight  up  before  them,  as  if  it  came  from  the 
chimneyof  Mary's  dwelling.  Her  heart  bound- 
ed ;  but  whether  the  smoke  meant  good  or  evil, 
she  did  not  know.  The  house  was  not  yet  in 
sight,  and  she  was  still  tortured  by  suspense. 
They  had  proceeded  but  a  short  distance 
farther,  when  the  forms  of  two  men  were  seen 
struggling  through  the  snow  towards  them  as 
thev  crossed  a  low  ridge  that  hid  the  house 
from  view.  They  were  more  surprised  than 
before,  for  how  was  it  possible  for  human  be- 
ini,'s  to  have  arrived  there  during  that  storm? 
Who  would  be  likely  to  arrive  there,  unless  — 
but  Mary  dared  not  hope  it  was  he. 

They  pressed  on,  and  the  men  drew  near. 
One  of  them  was  an  Indian,  and  Mury  was 


330 


A    STORY    OF    THE    OLDEN    TIME. 


hi 


startled  by  the  discovery.  But  the  other  was 
surely  a  white  man;  and  in  a  few  moments 
more  her  heart  beat  very  fast,  for  —  she  could 
hardly  be  mistaken  —  it  was  her  husband ! 

Struggling  on,  the  two  parties  came  to- 
gether; and  my  grandfather  pressed  Mary  in 
his  arms,  and  asked  her  why  she  h;ul  been 
away  from  home  in  such  a  storm.  Wliilo  the 
teani  rested,  each  explained  to  the  other  in  a 
few  words  what  had  brought  them  there. 

My  grandfather's  story  was,  that,  on  the 
night  before  the  storm,  he  had  cam|)e(l,  with 
the  Indian  who  was  with  him,  —  who  was  his 
fast  friend  through  his  having  once  saved  his 
life.  —  but  a  few  miles  from  !iome.  He  had 
intended  to  reach  home  that  night,  but  the 
snow  prevented  J  and,  starting  as  soon  as  it 
was  light  the  nesvt  morning,  they  had  hastenetl 
forward  as  fast  as  they  could  on  account  of 
the  coming  storm.  They  had  arrived  at  the 
house,  almost  exhausted,  to  find  Mary  gone. 
The  children  were  frightened  at  seeing  tliem. 


for  Alice  did  not  at  once  remember  her  father; 
and  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  under- 
stand that  their  mother  had  left  them,  just  as 
it  began  to  snow,  to  go  to  Captain  Green's. 
Why  she  had  gone,  they  did  not  know;  but, 
believing  tlii.t,  if  she  bad  gone  there,  she  was 
safe,  and  knowing  from  his  own  e.tperieiiee 
that  she  could  not  return  till  after  the  storm, 
my  grandfather  did  not  feel  greatly  alarmed, 
but  made  himself  and  his  frieiul  as  i  wmfort- 
able  as  possible,  well  convinced  that  he  would 
not  see  her  that  day. 

Now  Mary  eared  not  for  the  snow,  and  the 
joy  and  gratitude  of  her  heart  were  so  grciit 
that  she  wanted  to  sink  upon  her  knees  at 
once,  and  thank  the  good  Father,  wliom  she 
had  almost  doubted,  but  who,  she  now  saw, 
loved  her  still.  Together  they  returned,  a 
joyous  party ;  and  never  was  there  a  hai  '  t 
household  than  was  my  grandfather's  when 
the  sun  again  went  down,  and  they  were  all 
gathered  around  the  tire  ii'  !iis  own  home. 


GiKLs  IN  Old  Ti.mks. 


)er  her  father ; 
?  could  under- 
thciii.  just  as 
plain  Green's. 
3t  know ;  but, 
tlierc,  she  was 
vn  experience 
'ter  the  storin, 
eatly  alarmed, 
d  as  (  unifort- 
that  he  would 

snow,  and  the 
were  so  ^rcat 
her  knees  at 
ler,  whom  she 
she  now  saw, 
V  volunied.  a 
licre  a  haj  '  t 
Ifather's  when 
.1  they  were  all 
3wn  home. 


:::li^ '  '^''i7iyfTrTi''~''«ii  , 


BAFFLED    REVENGE. 


Ifl 


"The  Silence  was  broken  by  tub  sharp  Report  of  a  Rifle."    Page  233. 


BAFFLED  REVENGE. 

THE  WHITE  MAN  OUTWITS  THE  BED. 
UY  J.  n.  w. 

THE  neighbor  Warner,  who  had  been  with 
itiv  grandfather  in  the  Rangers,  lived  near 
the  same  stream  that  wound  down  through 
the  valley  past  my  grandfather's  clearing, 
about  three  miles  distant  from  him  in  a  straight 
line,  although  it  was  consideiably  farther  by 
the  course  of  the  stream.  When  I  was  a  boy, 
and  lived  at  home,  on  the  same  farm  my  gr^and- 
father  had  cleared,  several  of  Warner's  de- 
scendants also  lived  upon  the  same  place  that 
he  had  cleared.  There  was  no  path  I  loved 
to  follow  so  well  as  that  which  led  down 
through  tiie  pine  woods,  along  the  river's 
bank,  towards  the  Warners',  where,  for  miles, 
I  would  see  no  human  being,  and  where  I 
could  well  imagine  that  all  remained  as  it  had 
been  a  hundred  years  before. 

Spreading  out  to  the  eastward  from  this  riv- 
er of  beloved  memory  was  a  broad  plain,  in 
the  m.dst  of  which  had  stood  Warner's  dwell- 
ing, much  the  same  in  all  respects  as  had  been 
my  grandfalher's ;  both  of  which,  in  the  time 
of  my  boyhood,  had  been  long  superseded  by 
more  modern  structures. 


In  the  midst  of  the  silent  forest,  and  not  far 
from  Warner's  house,  was  a  pond,  —  a  little, 
miniature  lake,  — on  the  shores  of  which,  at 
the  time  when  he  settled  there,  the  sound  of 
the  white  man's  axe  had  never  been  heard.  A 
small  canoe,  concealed  by  some  outgrowing 
bushes  on  the  shore,  when  not  in  use,  enabled 
the  settler  to  land  such  of  the  innumerable 
wild  ducks  and  geese  that  frequented  the  lit" 
tie  lake  during  the  migrating  season,  as  hit 
unerring  rifle  compelled  to  remain  ;  and  anoth* 
er  canoe  in  the  river  served  the  same  purpose 
there. 

There  was  rare  tishing  in  that  river  at  the 
time  when  Warner  and  my  grandfather  settled 
upon  it;  and  it  was  still  good  when  I  was  a 
boy,  which  was  one  reason  why  I  loved  so  well 
to  follow  that  forest  path. 

Warner's  deeds  while  with  the  Rangers  had 
made  his  name  well  known  among  the  wild 
warriors  whom  he  hail  so  often  met  in  the 
woods,  upon  the  war-path,  and  had  caused  his 
life  to  be  sought  for.  Many  a  sight  had  been 
drawn  on  him.  and  many  a  bullet  intended  for 
him  had  just  missed  its  mark,  and  more  than 
one  savage  had  grappled  with  him  for  his  life 
only  to  lose  his  own. 

Before  the  close  of  the  war,  and  the  conse> 


232 


BAKPLED    REVENGE. 


quent  disbandment  of  the  Rangers,  he  had 
become  aware  that  he  had  one  mortal  enemy 
among  the  hostile  red  men.  A  friendly  Indian 
had  informed  him  of  the  fact  that  a  brother 
of  a  warrior  whom  he  had  slain  was  seeking 
for  his  Iir  ;  and  he  knew  that  he  would  not  be 
satisfied  without  it,  even  though  years  should 
intervene  before  he  could  accomplish  his  pur- 
pose. Warner  knew  well  that  an  Indian  re- 
q'lired  blood  for  blood,  and  that  nothing  but 
the  life  of  the  on<?  who  had  taken  the  life  of  a 
relative  would  satisfy  him  ;  and  the  knowledge 
that  his  life  was  thus  sought  by  no  means 
added  to  his  peace  of  mind.  So  long  as  the 
war  continued,  he  was  more  careful  about  be- 
ing away  from  the  Rangers  alone  ;  and  when- 
ever a  bullet  came  nearer  to  him  than  usual, 
he  felt  that  it  had  been  directed  by  the  aven- 
ging brother. 

Bat  the  war  ended,  and  he  returned  home 
uninjured,  though  not  without  taking  every 
precaution  against  being  followed,  using  the 
most  subtle  devices  he  could  think  of  to  throw 
the  avenger  off  his  track. 

He  believed  he  had  succeeded,  for,  as  I  have 
said,  he  arrived  home  safely;  and  for  more 
than  a  year  nothing  occurred  to  indicate  that 
his  homeward  route  had  been  traced.  But 
early  in  the  second  summer,  Robinson —  the 
man  whom  he  and  my  grandfather  had  res- 
cued from  the  Indians  —  came  to  him  one  d.iv 
while  he  was  hoeing  his  corn,  and  told  him 
that  another  neighbor,  who  lived  farther  aw.iv, 
had  met  a  strange  Indian,  who  had  inquired 
if  there  was  not  such  a  man  as  he  living  about 
there.  Mistrusting  that  his  inquiry  was  made 
with  no  good  intent,  the  neighbor  had  told 
him  that  he  did  nut  know  of  such  a  man ; 
whereat  the  Indian  looked  a  little  incredulous, 
and  soon  left  him. 

The  neighbor  lived  nearer  to  Robinson  than 
he  did  to  Warner;  and  when  he  was  sure 
that  the  Indian  had  got  so  far  away  that  he 
would  not  come  upon  him  again,  he  went 
directly  to  Robinson's  house,  to  impart  to 
him  his  suspicions.  Robinson,  believing  the 
strange  Indian  was  he  who  sought  to  avenge 
a  brother's  death,  had  come  directly  to  put 
Warner  on  his  guard. 

"  Very  likely  it  is  he,"  said  Warner,  coolly, 
in  reply  to  Robinson's  communication  ;  "  ami 
if  he  has  got  so  near,  he  won't  be  long  in 
finding  me.  I  think,  however,  he'll  let  me 
live  a  l-tt'c  longer,  if  I  can  see  him'." 

"If  he  has  come  so  far,  he  won't  be  satisfied 
to  gr  back  with  anything  less  than  your  scalp," 
remarked  Robinson. 

"No;  perhaps  not;  but,  as  I  have  no  hair 


to  spare,  I'll  have  to  fix  it  some  othsr  way.  If 
I  c  n  only  get  a  word  w  ith  him,  I  think  there'll 
be  no  trouble.  You  can  trust  me  to  manage 
that  thing,  Ben." 

"  I  don't  know.  If  you  see  him  first,  per- 
haps you  can;  but  I  guess  there'll  be  sii.al! 
chance  for  that.  If  his  piece  should  miss  fire, 
or  his  aim  l.e  unste."dy,  you'll  have  a  chance; 
but  not  much  otherwise,  I  guess." 

"  Don't  you  worry  a  bit.  My  chances  are  a 
hundred  times  better  here  than  they  were  that 
night  I  let  you  up,  after  the  Indians  had  car- 
ried you  so  far  aw.iy  from  camp.  Just  go 
home,  Ben,  and  make  yourself  easy ;  and  if  the 
fellow  inquires  of  you,  tell  him  just  where  he 
can  find  vm.     That  will  be  the  best  way  now." 

"  If  he  should  call  on  me,  I'd  shoot  him, 
if  I  knew  it  wouldn't  be  considered  murder; 
but  I  suppose  it  would,  as  it's  peace  now.  He'll 
have  to  fire  the  first  shot,  or  it  will  be  murder, 
I  suppose,  even  though  it's  to  save  a  man's 
life." 

"You're  right,  Ben;  it  won't  do  to  murder 
even  an  Indian  ;  and  I  hope  you  won't  shoot 
him  if  you  see  !;im.  Just  tell  him  the  way  as 
straight  as  ^-ou  can,  and  let  him  come  here. 
If  I  can  only  see  him,  I  think  we  can  get  along 
without  any  murdering  being  done  by  any- 
body. I  hope  you'll  see  him,  Ben,  and  send 
him  here." 

"  Well,  Royal,  you've  seen  too  many  Indians 
to  be  killed  by  one  now,  I  guess;  and  if  he 
comes  to  me  I'll  send  him  aloi.g.  But  I  hope, 
j  for  the  sake  of  them  that's  in  the  house,  you'll 
keep  a  sharp  lookout.  I  wouldn't  work  too 
near  the  woods,  if  I  were  you." 

And  so  saying,  Robinson  left  the  bold  man 
at  work  where  he  had  found  him,  and  returned 
hj.ne.  Warner  did  not  leave  his  work  till  the 
usual  hour;  but  he  ti  rned  many  a  searciiing 
glance  towards  the  woods,  which  were  not  far 
from  him,  and  listened  also  for  any  sound  that 
might  come  from  them,  as-  his  lue  stopped, 
and  he  bent  do'vn  to  pluck  the  weeds  from 
among  the  tender  blades  of  corn. 

But  he  finished  his  d.iy's  work  without  dis- 
covering anything  of  tlie  wily  foe  he  expected, 
and  went  home  to  his  supper,  meeUng  his  wife 
and  little  ones  as  composedly  as  if  nothing 
had  happened  to  disturb  the  usual  serenity 
of  his  mind.  He  said  nothing  to  them  of  Rob- 
inson's call;  anil  the  only  thing  he  did  that 
would  indicate  that  he  liad  it  still  in  mind,  was 
to  take  down  his  rifle,  and  draw  out  the  charge 
that  was  in  it,  which  he  replaced,  with  unusual 
care,  by  another,  scraping  the  edge  of  the  flint, 
to  make  it  more  certain  that  it  would  strike 
fire  the  first  time.     Then  he  hung  the  rifle  on 


I 


mmmmmmm 


nmpi 


BAFFLED  REVENGE. 


233 


othsrway.    If 

I  think  there'll 
Tie  to  manage 

him  first,  per- 
ere'll  be  sii.al! 
lould  miss  fire, 
have  a  chance ; 
s." 

y  chances  are  a 
they  were  that 
dians  had  car- 
amp.  Just  go 
lasy ;  and  if  the 
1  just  where  he 
best  way  now." 
I'd  shoot  him, 
dered  murder; 
:ice  now.  He'll 
.vill  be  murder, 
I  save  a  man's 

:  do  to  murder 
ou  won't  shoot 
lim  the  way  as 
im  come  here, 
e  can  get  along 
done  by  any- 
Ben,  and  send 

J  many  Indians 
less;  and  if  he 
g.  But  I  hope, 
le  house,  you'll 
Idn't  work  too 

t  the  bold  man 
n,  and  returned 
lis  work  till  the 
iny  a  searcliing 
:h  were  not  far 
any  sound  that 
s  lue  stopped, 
;he  weeds  from 
•n. 

rk  without  dis- 
"oe  he  expected, 
neeUng  his  wife 
y  as  if  nothing 
usual  serenity 
c  them  of  Rob- 
ig  he  did  tliat 
ill  in  mind,  was 
f  out  the  charge 
d,  with  unusual 
:dge  of  the  flint, 
it  would  strike 
tng  the  ritle  on 


the  pegs  where  it  always  rested  when  not  in 
use,  and  seemed  to  have  no  thought  for  any- 
thing but  an  hour  of  quiet  enjoyment  with  his 
little  family,  and  a  good  night's  rest. 

The  next  morning,  before  going  out,  Warner 
scanned  the  edge  of  the  woods  carefully  through 
the  windows  of  his  cabin,  which  drew  from 
his  observing  wife  the  inquiry,  — 
•  "  What  is  it,  Royal?  Are  the  bears  around 
again?" 

"  There  are  varmints  of  some  kind,  judging 
from  what  I  saw  yesterday ;  and  I  want  to  get 
a  sight  at  them." 

But  without  any  further  explanation,  he  went 
out,  and  began  to  do  his  chores,  liis  wife  pre- 
paring breakfast  meantime.  After  breakfast, 
he  shouldered  his  hoe,  and  went  towards  the 
field,  as  if  to  continue  his  labor  there  ;  but  just 
as  he  reached  it,  he  stopped,  and  stood  for  a 
few  moments  in  a  thoughtful  attitude,  and 
then  turned  back  towards  the  house,  as  if  he 
had  decided  not  to  work.  Hanging  his  hoe 
in  the  usual  place,  he  entered  the  house,  and 
took  down  his  rifle,  and  looked  .it  the  priming, 
and  rubbed  the  flint  once  mo.e. 

"  Is  it  a  bear,  or  a  turkey?  "  asked  his  good 
wife. 

"What  if  I  shouldn't  tell  you?"  answered 
Warner,  as  he  turned  a  tender  look  towards 
her. 

"Then  I'd  kiss  you,"  she  exclaimed,  laugh- 
ingly, stepping  lightly  towards  him,  and  put- 
ting her  arms  around  his  neck-  and  her  lips  to 
his  face. 

"  Then  I  am  sure  I  will  never  tell ;  "  and  he 
put  one  arm  around  her  waist,  and  returned 
the  kiss  as  fervently  as  it  was  given.  "  Don't 
be  alarmed,  Mary ;  I'll  be  back  soon  ;  "  and, 
without  any  more  words,  he  left  tlie  cabin, 
going  in  a  direction  opposite  to  his  field  of 
corn,  which  left  Mary  a  little  mystified  as  to 
what  his  true  purpose  was. 

Warner  went  straight  forward,  without  turn- 
ing a  look  in  any  direction,  till  he  had  entered 
the  woods,  when  he  looked  about  warily,  but 
still  kept  on.  At  last  he  stopped,  find  seemed 
to  be  searching  for  a  spot  favorabic  for  some 
purpose  le  had  in  mind.  A  large  decaying 
log  was  lying  on  the  ground  not  far  from  him. 
and  he  went  towards  it.  lie  seemed  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  it;  and  putting,  down  his  rifle,  he 
took  out  his  knife,  and  cut  oft"  tliree  or  four 
of  tlie  smallest  saphngs  that  grew  near.  Then 
taking  ofi"  his  tow  frock,  he  liung  it  upon  a 
stick,  which  hu  drove  into  the  ground  close  to 
one  side  of  the  log.  and  placed  another  short 
stick  %\ithin  the  shoulders  of  the  sleeves,  to 
keep  them  out  about  the  breadth  of  his  own 


shoulders,  arranging  it  so  that  the  neck  of  the 
frock  was  a  few  inches  above  the  top  of  the 
log.  Over  this  he  placed  his  hat,  so  as  to  make 
it  appear  to  any  one  approaching  as  if  a  man 
was  sitting  with  his  back  against  the  log,  his 
head  and  shoulders  rising  just  above  it. 

Warner  seemed  satisfied  with  his  work,  and 
after  viewing  it  a  moment,  he  proceeded  to 
cut  down  some  bushes,  working  with  some 
haste,  and  with  them  he  erected  a  screen,  such 
as  hunters  used  to  lie  in  wait  behind  when 
calling  wild  turkeys.  He  formed  the  screen 
directly  in  front  of  the  frock  and  cap,  so  that 
whoever  approached  it  would  naturally  sup- 
pose that  a  hunter  was  waiting  there,  decoy- 
ing game. 

His  arrangements  were  soon  completed;  and 
then,  after  looking  sharply  around  among  the 
trunks  of  the  tall  trees,  he  laid  himself  down 
beside  the  log,  so  that  his  own  body  was  ef- 
fectually concealed,  and  began  to  utter,  at  reg- 
ular intervals,  the  call  used  by  hunters  to  en- 
tice turkeys  within  rifle-shot. 

Between  the  calls,  Warner  listened,  to  detect 
any  sound  that  might  be  made  within  the  si- 
lent forest,  but  never  moving,  or  raising  his 
head  to  look  around.  At  last  he  heard  an 
answer  to  his  decoying  notes,  coming  faintly 
from  the  quarter  opposite  to  that  from  which 
he  had  approached  the  log;  and  immediately 
he  repeated  his  call.  An  answer  came  back 
to  every  call  he  made;  and  as  each  successive 
reply  seemed  nearer  than  the  last,  he  was  sure 
that  some  solitary  bird  was  being  enticed  to- 
wards him.  Now  his  calls  were  less  frequent, 
and  between  them  he  listened  anxiously  fof 
any  other  sounds.  He  put  up  a  stick  which 
he  held  in  his  hand,  and  moved  the  hat  and 
frock  slightly  several  times,  straining  his  sens< 
of  hearing  alwr.ys  to  the  utmost. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sound  like  the  snap- 
ping of  a  dry  stick  broken  by  being  trod  upon. 
It  was  but  a  slight  sound,  but  he  could  not  be 
mistaken,  and  Warner's  face  showed  a  look 
of  satisfaction,  probably  because  tlu  sound 
came  from  beyond  the  opposite  side  of  the 
log.  He  quickly  jogged  the  hat  and  frock 
again,  repeating  his  call,  and  making  a  rus- 
tling noise  with  his  limbs  at  the  same  time. 
Then  for  a  moment  he  kept  perfectly  still,  and 
was  (Imost  certain  he  could  detect  the  soft, 
stealthy  tread  of  moccasoned  feet  upon  the 
leaves. 

He  moved  the  hat  again,  raising  it  slighth', 
and  in  an  instant  a  bullet  whistled  through 
it.  and  the  silence  was  broken  by  tlic  sharp 
report  of  a  rifle.  Bending  the  stick  that  held 
the  frock  and  hat  quickly  forward,  till  they 


234 


BAFFLED    REVENGE. 


were  below  the  top  of  the  log,  he  waited  Rtill 
a  moment  more,  and  then  heard  the  quick 
tread  of  some  one  approachinj^.  Sprinjjing 
to  his  feet,  he  confronted  his  mortal  foe,  the 
Indian  who  had  been  so  long  in  parsuit  of 
his  life. 

In  at)  instant  his  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder, 
and  the  Indian,  already  within  twenty  yards 
of  him,  stopped,  statue-like,  uttering  the  single 
exclamation,  — 

'•  Mo  dead  man  !  " 

lie  mii,'lit  have  scon  the  flash  that  leaped 
from  the  ilark  tube  before  liim.  but  he  could 
hardly  have  heard  the  report  which  followed 
it.  He  seemed  to  rise,  without  any  effort  of 
his  own,  clear  of  the  groui.  '.  and  then  he  fell 
forward  at  full  length  upon  il. 

Warner  coolly  wiped  out  the  barrel  of  his 
rifle,  re-charged  it,  and  then  approached  his 
prostrate  foe.  He  lay  upon  his  face;  but 
turning  him  over,  he  saw  that  he  was  indeed 
a  dead  man.  The  Indian  had  ^C)Ught  so  dili- 
gently and  so  long  only  to  be  foiled  by  the 
object  of  his  search  in  this  manner.  The 
white  man's  cunning  had  more  than  equalled 
the  red  man's;  and  the  result  of  the  Indian's 
long  journey  was,  that  his  own  spirit  had 
been  sent  b}-  his  intended  victim  to  join  that 
of  the  dead  orotncr  in  the  happy  hunting- 
grounds. 

"  He  brought  it  upon  himself ;  he  fired  the 
first  shot,  and  it  is  no  murder,"  Warner  said 
to  himself,  as  he  stood  thoughtfully  over  the 
body.     '•  Hut  now  he  must  be  disposed  of." 

The  pond  I  have  mentioned  was  not  far  off; 
and  taking  the  body  by  the  shoulders,  Warner 
drew  it  thither.  Tiien  he  managed  to  bind 
some  heavy  stones  to  it,  and  to  place  it  in  his 
canoe.  Paddling  to  the  centre  of  the  pond, 
and  dropping  it  overboard,  it  sank  beneath 
the  placid  waters,  to  trouble  him  no  more. 

"  Now,"  thought  he,  as  he  returned  to  the 
shore,  "  I  hope  the  war  is  over." 

Going  back  to  his  decoy,  he  destroyed 
every  sign  of  it,  and  picking  up  the  Indian's 
rifle,  he  carried  it  to  the  edge  of  the  pond,  and 
cast  it  from  him  far  into  the  water.  Then  he 
turned  towards  home,  and  soon  appeared  be- 
fore his  waiting  wife,  seemingly  as  calm  and 
undisturbed  as  if  he  had  only  returned  from 
a  morning's  bunt. 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  good-n  turedly.  as 
he  came  in  empty-handed,  "  some  one  else  has 
carried  away  the  game,  then.  I  heard  two 
shots,  and  knew  that  you  could  not  have  fired 
them  both,  because  they  were  so  near  togeth- 
er.    Whom  did  you  meet,  Royal  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  his  name;  he  don't  belong 
in  this  settlement,"  said  Warner,  evasively. 


"Why  didn't  he  come  home  with  you?  If 
he  is  a  stranger,  we  might  have  given  him  a 
dinner,  at  least." 

"He  had  a  long  journey  belbrc  him,  and 
could  not  t.Trry.  He  is  far  frotn  here  by  this 
time." 

"He  ilid  not  carry  away  the  game,  then. 
Why  have  you  left  it  behind?  I  thought  you 
had  gone  for  a  turkey." 

"I  might  have  brought  one.  if  il  had  not 
been  for  liim;  but  he  fired  first,  and  only 
frightened  the  bird,  so  that  it  escaped  alto- 
gether. I'll  bring  you  a  turkey  to-morrow. 
Mary." 

And  thus  was  the  good  wife's  curiosity  sat- 
isfied: and  tow;iiJs  all  of  his  neighbors  War- 
ner was  equally  reticent  for  many  years;  but 
finally,  as  he  and  my  grandfather  grew  old 
together,  he  one  d.iy  told  how  he  had  baffled 
his  enemy,  as  they  two  sat  together  upon  the 
shore  of  the  pond  where  he  had  bin-ied  him, 
talking,  as  they  Mimetimes  loved  to  do.  of  the 
daring  exploits  and  wild  adventures  of  their 
younger  days. 


T 


THE    BATTLE     OK    BUNKER     HILL. 


^35 


with  you?     If 
:  given  him  a 

lore  hiin,  and 
1   here  by  this 

le  tjamc,  then. 
I  thought  _M)u 

!,  if  it  had  not 
first,  and  only 
:  escaped  alto- 
icy  to-morrow. 

s  curiosity  sat- 
leisjhbors  War- 
any  years;  but 
ather  grew  old 
lie  had  baffled 
ether  upon  the 
ad  buried  him. 
ed  to  do.  of  the 
ntures  of  their 


1^^ 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL. 


BY    T.    \V.    IIIliGINSUN. 


[am  extract  crom  thk  V()i'\(;   kolks'  history  or  the 

UNITED    STATKS.  ] 

SAMUEL  .\D.\MS,  when  he  hea.d  the  guns 
at  Lexinijton,  exchiimed,  "  O,  what  a  glo- 
rious morning  is  this!  "  for  he  knew  that  the 
contest  would  end  in  the  freedom  of  the  colo- 
nics.    President  JetVerson  said  afterwards, — 

"  Before  the  19th  of  April,  1775,  I  ncNXT  hac' 
lieard  a  whisper  of  a  disposition  to  separate 
from  (Ireat  Hritafn." 

The  Massachusetts  committee  of  safety  at 
once  sent  out  addresses  to  the  difVerent  towns, 
and  to  the  olher  New  England  colonies,  asking 
them  to  send  troops  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Hoston.  Hefoie  long 
llieie  were  some  fifteen  thou- 
sand men  collected,  under  a  va- 
riety of  independent  command- 
ers. General  Ward  commandeil 
those  from  Massachusetts  ;  Gen- 
eral Stark,  those  from  New 
Hampshire;  Gt  iieral  Greene, 
those  from  Rhode  Island ;  and 
Generals  Spencer  and  Putnam, 
those  from  Connecticut.  The 
army  was  not  at  all  disciplined  : 
it  had  few  cannon,  and  little 
ammunition  ;  the  men  came  and 
went  very  much  as  they  wished. 
But  they  were  strong  enough  to 
keep  the  British  army  of  five 
thousand  shut  up  in  Boston; 
and  General  Gage  sent  most 
of  the  families  of  the  patriotic  party  out 
of  town,  so  that  tljere  was  very  little  inter- 
course between  those  within  and  those  with- 
out. 

It  was  found  that  there  were  two  ranges  of 
hills  that  commanded  Boston  on  two  sides  — 
Dorchester  Heights  on  the  south,  and  Bunker 
Hill  anc*  Breed's  Hill  on  the  north-west.  It 
was  of  nportance  to  both  sides  to  get  the 
control  of  these  hills;  and  the  Americans  had 
reason  to  kn&wthatGeneral  Gage  was  planning 
to  extend  his  lines,  and  include  Bunker  Hill. 
So  a  force  of  a  thousand  men  was  sent,  one 
night,  under  command  of  Colonel  Prescott, 
to  erect  some  earthworks  for  its  protection. 
His  mr.i  were  mostly  farmers:  they  had  no 
unifor  ns,  and  carried  fowling-pieces  without 
bayoni.'ts.  They  formed  on  Cambridge  Com- 
mon, and,  after  a  prayer  by  the  president  of 
Harvard  College,  marched,  at  nine  P.  M.,  June 


16,  1775.  They  marched  so  silently  that  they 
were  not  heard  ;  and  the  bells  of  Boston  had 
struck  twelve  before  they  turned  a  sod.  It  was 
finally  decided  to  fortify  Breed's  Hill,  as  be- 
ing nearer  to  Boston,  instead  of  Bunker  Hill. 
Tlie  work  was  soon  begun.  As  they  worked, 
they  could  hear  tlu-  sentinels  from  the  British 
men-of-war  cry,  "  All's  well  I  "'  As  day  dawned, 
tlie  new!y-made  earthworks  were  seen  from 
the  ships,  which  began  to  fire  on  them,  as  did 
a  battery  in  Boston.  But  the  Americans  went 
on  completing  tlieir  fortifications.  General 
Gage  with  his  telescope  watched  Colonel  Pres- 
cott as  lie  moveil  about  the  works. 

'•Will  he  fight.'"  asked  he. 

"To  the  last  drop  of  his  blood,"  said  an 
American  loy:r  ho  stootl  near. 

Soon  the  '  .  general  iiiaile  up  bis  mind 


to  lose  no  time,  but  to  attack  the  works  that 
day. 

It  was  now  the  17th  of  June.  The  day  was 
intensely  hot.  Three  thousand  British  sol- 
diers were  embarked  hi  boats,  and  sent  across 
to  Charlestowii.  Prescott  placed  his  men,  as 
he  best  could,  behind  the  half-finished  mounds ; 
and  a  detachment  was  ;  tationed  at  a  rail  fence, 
on  the  edge  of  Bunker  Hill,  to  keep  the  British 
troops  from  fianking  the  redoubt.  This  rail- 
fence  was  afterwards  lilled  in  with  new-mown 
I1.1v,  to  screen  better  those  behind  it.  Without 
food,  without  water,  and  with  very  little  am- 
muiiilion,  the  Americans  awaited  tlieir  oppo- 
nents. There  were  from  two  to  three  thou- 
sand behind  the  breastworks,  and  four  thousand 
British  to  attack  them ;  and  the  Americans 
were  almost  without  drill  or  discipline,  while 
the  British  troops  were  veteran  regiments. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  British  were  obliged 


236 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL. 


to  advance  in  open  field,  while  the  Americans 
were  behind  their  earthworks — a  far  safer 
position.  There  thcv  waited  as  qviietl y  as  they 
could,  while  I'utnani,  Prescott,  and  others 
moved  about  amonij  them,  saying,  "  Aim 
low."  "Wait  till  you  can  sec  the  whites  of 
their  eyes."  , 

The  British  soldiers  marched  forward  slow- 
ly, for  they  were  oppressed  with  the  heat,  and 
were  burdened  with  their  knapsncks  of  provis- 
ions. But  they  marched  with  great  regularity, 
and  entire  confidence.  They  fired  as  they  went ; 
but  only  a  few  scattering  shots  were  fired  in 
return.  On,  on  tliey  came,  till  they  were 
within  some  ten  rods  of  the  redoubt.  Then 
the  word  "  Fire  I  "  was  given  ;  and  when  the 
smoke  cleared  away,  the  ground  was  strewed 
with  the  British  soldiers,  and  the  survivors 
had  already  begun  to  retreat.  A  great  cheer 
went  up  from  the  forts,  and  the  shout  was 
echoed  from  the  rail  fence.  The  Americans 
behind  the  fence  were  next  attacked  by  the 
right  wing  of  the  British.  The  Americans 
withheld  their  fire  till  the  last  moment;  and 
three  fourtl-s  of  the  advancing  soldiers  fell, 
and  the  rest  faltered.  Twice  the  British  ad- 
vanced, and  twice  they  were  driven  backwards, 
while  very  few  of  the  Americans  were  hurt. 
Then  a  third  attack  was  made  upon  the  main 
fort.  The  British  oflkers  were  seen  threaten- 
ing the  soldiers,  and  even  striking  and  prick- 
ing them,  to  make  tliem  advance;  but  they 
were  very  unwilling.  Putnam  passed  round 
the  ranks,  telling  his  men  that,  if  the  British 
were  once  more  'ven  back,  they  could  not 
rally  again;  and  hia  men  shouted,  "We  are 
ready  for  the  red-coats  again." 

But  Putnam  knew  that  their  powder  was  al- 
most gone,  and  told  them  to  reserve  their  fire 
till  the  British  were  within  twenty  yards.  Once 
more  they  awaited  the  assailants,  who  now 
advanced  with  fixed  bayonets,  without  firing, 
and  under  the  protection  of  batteries  of  artil- 
lery. Most  of  the  Americans  had  but  one 
round  of  aminunition  let"t,  and  few  had  more 
than  three.  Scarcely  any  had  bayonets.  Their 
last  shots  were  soon  fired  ;  and  there  was  noth- 
ing for  them  but  to  retreat  as  they  best  ;:ouUI. 
They  fell  back  slowly,  one  by  one,  losing  fur 
more  men  in  the  retreat  tlian  in  the  battle. 
Among  their  losses  was  the  brave  General 
Warren,  eminent  as  a  physician  and  as  a  pa- 
triot, lie  was  president  of  the  Provincial 
Congress,  and  was  there  only  as  a  volunteer, 
not  in  command.  The  British  general,  Howe, 
on  hearing  of  his  death,  said  that  it  was  equal 
to  the  loss  of  five  hundred  men  to  the  Amer- 
icans. 

The  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was  of  the  great- 


est importance  to  the  colonies.  First,  it  fet- 
tled the  question  that  there  was  to  be  a  war, 
which  many  people  had  not  before  believed. 
Secondly,  it  showed  that  inexperienced  Amer- 
ican soldiers  could  resist  regular  troops.  It  is 
said  that  when  Washington  heard  of  it,  he 
only  asked,  "Did  the  militia  stand  Ire?" 
And  when  he  was  told  that  they  did,  and  that 
they  reserved  their  own  till  their  opponents 
were  within  eight  rods,  he  said,  "The  liberties 
of  the  country  are  safe." 

The  battle  was  not  claimed  qs  a  victory  by 
the  Americans;  and  yet  it  roused  their  enthu- 
siasm very  much.  The  ranks  of  the  Conti- 
nental army  were  filled  up,  and  the  troops  were 
in  high  spirits..  On  the  other  hand,  the  great- 
est surprise  was  felt  in  England  at  the  courage 
shown  by  the  Americans  in  this  contest,  and 
the  great  number  of  killed  and  wounded  among 
the  British  troops.  By  the  oflicial  accounts, 
the  British  loss  in  killed  and  wounded  was 
more  than  a  thousand  (1054),  including  an 
unusually  large  proportion  of  oflScers,  being 
one  in  four  of  the  whole  force  engaged.  The 
American  loss  was  less  than  half  as  many  — 
not  more  than  four  hundred  and  fifty.  People 
in  England  complained  that  none  of  their 
regiments  had  ever  returned  so  diminished  in 
numbers  from  any  battle.  One  came  back,  for 
instance,  with  only  twenty-five  men.  And  it 
was  saiii  that  "  no  history  could  produce  a  par- 
allel "  to  the  courage  shown  by  the  British 
in  advancing  beneath  such  a  murderous  fire. 
"  So  large  a  proportion  of  a  detachment,"  it 
was  said,  "  was  never  killed  or  wounded  in 
Germany,"  where  the  British  armies  had  lately 
been  engaged. 


es.  First,  it  »ct- 
tvas  to  be  a  war, 

before  believed, 
[pcricnced  Amer- 
liar  troops.     It  is 

heard  of  it,  he 
itia  stand  Ire?" 
hey  did,  and  that 

their  opponents 
d,  "  The  liberties 

I  as  a  victory  by 
used  their  enthu- 
ks  of  the  Conti- 
d  the  troops  were 
r  hand,  the  great- 
id  at  the  courage 
this  contest,  and 
I  wounded  among 
olHcial  accounts, 
id  wounded  was 
\),  including  an 
of  officers,  being 
e  engaged.  The 
half  as  many  — 
nd  fifty.  People 
it  none  of  their 
so  diminished  in 
lie  came  back,  for 
ve  men.  And  it 
lid  produce  a  par- 
n  by  the  British 
I  murderous  fire. 
I  detachment,"  it 
i  or  wounded  in 
armies  had  lately 


'-"■'  ''*''''ii'''.ji' '"■"''''irt*' 


H 

X 
w 

w 
> 

H 
H 
f 
W 

O 

w 

w 
X 

I— I 

f 


1 


VIENNA. 


m 


The  Grand  Oi'era  House. 


VIENNA. 


BY   MARY   GRANGER  CHASE. 


THE  Austrian  capital  has  hcen  pronounced 
tlie  least  part  of  itself,  for  almost  anv  one 
could  walk  round  the  city  proper  within  an 
hour,  and  throuj^h  it  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Yet  this  little  spot  contains  nearly  sixty  thou- 
sand inhabitants.  It  is  surrounded  by  abroad, 
open  green  rinjj,  wlifch  was  the  filacis  when 
the  town  was  fortified,  and  is  now  laid  out  with 
lovely  walks  and  fine  acacia  and  chestnut 
trees.  Beyond  this  pleasant,  jjrassy  prome- 
nade are  the  suburbs,  four  and  thirty  in  num- 
ber, and  comprisintj  ten  times  as  much  space 
as  the  inner  town,  though  only  seven  times  as 
many  people. 

From  the  relation  of  city  and  suburbs,  Vi- 
enna lias  been  compared  to  "a  diamond  sur- 


rounded by  thirty-four  emeralds,"  and  also  to 
"  an  ancient  dame  with  her  more  or  less  well- 
grown  daughters." 

The  old  town  is  the  fa^hionabre  quarter. 
Here  are  the  palaces  of  the  emperor  and 
the  principal  nobility,  tlie  most  interesting 
churches  and  public  buildings,  and  splendid 
shops,  with  very  elaborate  and  tasteful  signs. 
In  the  suburbs  the  streets  are  broad,  well 
paved,  and  handsome;  but  those  in  the  town, 
though  cleanly,  arc  crooked,  very  narrow,  and 
all  run  to  one  centre,  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel, 
or  tlie  threads  of  a  spider's  web;  and  as  the 
houses  are  very  high,  the  city  is  dark,  except- 
ing just  at  midday,  when  the  sun  does  manage 
to   look    in.     There    are    no    sidewalks,  and 


240 


VIENNA. 


I 


li 


11  li 


pedestrians  are  compelled  to  keep  constant 
watch  over  their  toes,  and  sometimes  to  jump 
on  to  the  steps  of  a  carriage,  to  save  themselves 
from  being  crushed  by  it.  Corner  houses  have 
large  slanting  stones  with  iron  caps,  and  rings 
as  thick  as  a  man's  finger,  for  vehicles  to  strike 
against.  It  is  a  custom  in  Vienna  to  build 
houses  around  court-yards,  and  let  them,  in 
stories  or  flats,  to  dilTorent  families.  The 
average  is  about  forty  occupants  to  a  house; 
but  some  houses  are  little  towns  by  themselves, 
and  produce  immense  sums  of  rent.  There  is 
one  which  hns  ten  courts,  two  hundred  and 
twelve  dwellings,  and  twelve  hundred  inhab- 
itants. AnothiT  has  six  courts,  over  tliirty 
rtaircases,  three  hundred  dwellings,  and  two 
thousand  inhabitants. 

As  one  approaches  Vienna,  before  the  city 
itself  can  be  seen  at  all,  the  south  tower  of  St. 
Stephen's  Cathedral  is  discerned.  Thi'  church 
stands  in  the  very  heart  of  the  old  juarter, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  lovely  specimens  of 
Gothic  architecture  to  be  found  in  the  world. 
It  dates  back  to  the  middle  ages,  and  not  only 
is  its  exterior  exquisitely  harmonious,  grace- 
ful, and  rich  in  tracery,  curious  carving,  and 
monuments,  and  the  doorways  very  beautiful ; 
but  the  height  of  the  ceiling,  the  soft,  dim,  re- 
ligious light,  the  deep,  uniform  tint  of  color- 
ing, the  highly  decorated  pillars,  elaborately 
wrought  pulpit,  brilliant  old  painted  glass, 
and  impressive  pictures,  give  to  the  whole  in- 
terior "  the  air  of  a  holy  museum."  The  south 
spire  is  a  most  delicate  masterpiece  of  perfo- 
rate! stone,  not  actually  attached  to  the  church, 
but  shooting  up  beside  it  from  the  ground, 
regularly  and  gradually  diminishing  in  arches 
and  buttresses,  until  it  reaches  the  height  of 
over  four  hundred  feet.  The  Viennese  often 
speak  of  this  graceful  pyramid  as  "  Stephen," 
as  though  it  were  a  living  friend.  Mosses  grew 
in  profusion  in  this  old  tower;  and  hawks, 
jackdaws,  crows,  and  spiders  have  their  home- 
steads here,  while  of  bats,  fifty  were  killed, 
when  some  years  ago  the  watchmen  in  self-de- 
fence, hunted  them  to  their  holec.  The  roof  of 
the  cathedral  is  covered  with  colored  tiles,  which 
form  a  double-headed  eagle  —  the  crest  of  Aus- 
tria. This  is  supposed  to  be  the  largest  figure 
of  a  bird  in  the  world.  It  is  one  hundred  and 
eighty  feet  wide,  from  the  end  of  one  wing  to 
that  of  the  oiher.  Each  eye  is  formed  of  four 
gilded  tiles,  and  each  be!i.k  contains  thhty. 
The  view  from  the  summit  of  the  tower  is 
exceedingly  grand,  taking  in  not  only  the  busy 
city  and  its  bright  suburbs,  and  the  Danube, 
but  alsu  Napoleon  Bonriparte's  battle-fields,  the 
Island  of  Lobau,  and  the  villages  of  VVagram, 


Aspern,  and  Essling.  A  tourist  in  Vienna, 
some  years  ago,  said  of  a  lookout  from  the  top 
of  one  of  the  side  towers  of  the  cathedral,  — 
"This  summit  is  formed  like  the  leaves  of  a 
rose,  flattened  at  the  top,  and  affording  just 
space  enough  for  two  human  feet.  We  ascend- 
ed accordingly,  and  perched  like  squirrels  on 
the  topmost  branch  of  a  tree.  The  beautiful 
city  of  Vienna  lay  at  our  feet.  It  was  a  most 
lovely,  calm,  clear  day.  We  heard  and  saw 
all  that  was  passinq;  in  the  city;  even  the  songs 
of  the  canary  birds  in  the  windows  of  some 
houses  ascended  to  us,  and  we  could  see  the 
butterflies  fluttering  over  the  house-tops  in 
search  of  some  green  spot  in  this  (for  them) 
dreary  waste.     We  could  have  told  a  gentle- 


st. St  •"hen's  Cilliedral. 

man  we  saw  w.-'.I'MLing  below,  where  the  brother 
was,  of  whom  he  wiis  in  search ;  for  we  saw 
him  at  the  satrie  time  driving  at  his  leisure 
on  the  glacis.  This  glacis,  which  surrounds 
the  inmost  core  of  the  city  with  its  broad, 
green  ring,  lends  the  panorama  its  principal 
ornament;  it  causes  the  whole  scene  'o  fall 
into  picturesque  parts,  and  permits  the  fine 
rows  of  houses  in  the  suburbs  to  be  seen  to 
full  advantage.  They  lie  round  the  outer  edge 
of  the  glacis  like  white  flowers  in  a  wreath 
of  green  leaves.  The  tower-keeper  named  to 
us  all  the  market-places,  streets,  houses,  and 
palaces  we  saw  beneath,  showed  us  the  Danube, 
the  first  range  of  the  Carpathian  Mountains, 


>Mm 


lurist  in  Vienna, 
kout  from  the  top 
;lie  cathedral,  — 
<e  the  leaves  of  a 
id  affording  just 
ieet.  We  ascend- 
like  squirrels  on 
I.  The  beautiful 
,  It  was  a  most 
?!  hear.!  and  saw 
y;  even  the  songs 
.vindows  of  some 
rt-e  could  see  the 
e  house-tops  in 
n  this  (for  them) 
ve  told  a  gentle- 


ledral. 

where  the  brother 
:arch ;  for  we  saw 
ing  at  his  leisure 
which  surrounds 
;y  with  its  broad, 
ama  its  principal 
hole  scene  'o  fall 
I  permits  the  fine 
rb$  to  be  seen  to 
unJ  the  outer  edge 
)wers  in  a  wreath 
r-keeper  named  to 
treets,  houses,  and 
wed  us  the  Danube, 
athian  Mountains, 


VIENNA. 


3»4t 


the  Si  vrian  Alps,  ami  the  roads  that  lead  to  Ger- 
many, Moravia.  Bohemia,  Italy,  atul  Hungary." 
Near  the  cathedral  is  a  squaie  called  tlie 
Slock-im-EiscH  Flatz  (the  Iron  Tree  Place), 
-^  a  whimsical  name  with  a  whimsical  origin. 
When  the  church  was  built,  it  was  outside  the 
walls  of  tiie  city,  and  the  forest  readied  to  the 
spot.  In  time  the  woods  vanislied  before  tlie 
steadily  growing  town,  until  only  the  trunk 
of  one  tree  was  left;  and  this  was  spared,  be- 
cause dedicated  to  the  welfare  of  working-men. 
Each  artisan  who  entered  the  city  drove  a 
nail  into  the  tree,  as  a  token  of  his  arrival,  and 
his  possession  of  a  strong  right  arm.  Finally, 
the  stock,  with  its  millions  of  nails,  and  iron 
hoops  to  preserve  it,  has  become  a  post  of  iron, 
yet,  all  the  time  retaining  the  outline  of  a  tree, 
and  has  given  its  name'to  the  square. 


The  Belvedere  Palace. 

The  Church  of  the  Convent  of  the  Capu- 
chins is  interesting,  because  it  contains  the 
tombs  of  the  imperial  family.  The  bodies  of 
all  who  have  Hapsburg  blood  in  their  veins 
are  deposited  here,  while  their  bowels  are 
placed  in  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral,  and  their 
hearts  are  preserved  in  silver  arns  in  the  suu- 
terranean  Loretto  Chapel  of  the  Church  of 
the  August! nes.  Strangers  are  permitted  to 
visit  the  burial-place  of  tiie  Capuchins  under 
the  guidance  of  one  of  the  old  monks,  with 
his  russet  habit  and  cowl,  white  cord  roimd 
his  waist,  and  a  lantern,  or  an  antique  Roman 
lamp,  in  his  hand.  There  are  over  seventy 
large,  oblong,  and  generally  bronze  coffins, 
ranged  against  the  wall.  Among  the  most 
elegant  is  that  of  tiie  Emperor  Joseph  I., 
which  is  of  massive  silver,  and  that  of  Maria 
Theresa,  who  is  called  the  (^^leen  Elizabeth 
of  Austria.  A  plain  coflui.  in  a  corner,  holds 
the  dust  of  a  certain  countess,  who  was  Maria 
Theresa's  governess.  The  great  queen,  as  a 
j6 


mark  of  esteem  and  gratitude,  made  a  place 
for  the  remains  of  her  friend  and  teaciier  in 
the  tomb  of  the  imperial  lamily.  For  thirteen 
years  Maria  Theresa  lierself  descended  into 
this  sombre  vault,  every  Friday,  to  pray  and 
weep  beside  the  remains  of  her  husband. 
One  of  tlie  coflins  most  recently  deposited 
here  contains  the  boily  of  the  unfortunate 
Maximilian,  who  attempted,  during  our  civil 
war,  to  secure  for  himself  the  throneof  Mexico. 
Near  the  casket  of  Francis  I.  is  an  unadorned 
copper  colVri,  with  a  raised  cross  upon  it,  and 
the  words  '•  Napolconis  Galliie  Impcratoris 
Filius"  (Sec.  Here  lies  tlie  mortal  part  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte's  only  son,  the  titular  King 
of  Rome,  who  died  at  Vienna,  in  1S32,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-one  years.  He  is  said  to  have 
been  an  amiable  prince,  and  he  was  the  favor- 
ite of  his  grandfather,  Francis  I.,  who  survived 
him  but  three  years.  They  were  constantly 
together  in  life,  and  the  emperor  desired  that 
in  the  sepulchre  their  bodies  should  not  be 
separated. 

The  Emperor  Francis  was  -.Imost  idolized 
by  the  people,  so  paternal  was  his  home  rule. 
Every  Wednesday  he  devoted  certain  hours  to 
the  reception  of  any  of  his  subjects  who  had 
petitions  or  complaints  to  lay  before  him,  and 
people  who  felt  unjustly  treated  travelled 
hundreds  of  miles  to  tell  their  story  to  the 
emperor  himse""  On  one  occasion,  Francis 
met,  in  one  of  ,  ,e  streets  of  Vienna,  the  body 
of  a  poor  woman  which  was  being  borne  to  the 
grave  unattended.  He  asked  why  the  friends 
f)f  the  deceased  did  not  accomj.any  lier  to  her 
burial.  The  reply  was,  "She  has  no  friends." 
"Then  we  will  be  her  friends,"  said  the 
emperor;  and,  taking  olf  his  hat,  he  folioVved 
the  remains  to  the  grave.  About  two  years 
after  the  death  of  Francis  1.  Mrs.  Trollope, 
the  mother  of  the  well-knowu  novelist,  was 
in  Vienna  on  the  d.ay  called  by  the  Germans, 
Poor  Souls'  Day,  which  is  spent  in  visiting 
the  graves  of  departed  friends,  and  ottering 
masses  for  their  souls.  On  this  occasion,  the 
crypt  of  the  Capuchin  Church  was  open  to 
tiie  people,  and  Mrs.  Trollope  says  the  old 
and  the  young,  the  rich  and  the  jioor,  thronged 
to  the  casket  of  P'rancis  I.,  and  wept  aiid 
sobbed  as  though  overwhelmed  with  grief. 
In  the  evening  of  the  same  d.iy  Mrs.  Trollope 
was  at  a  party,  and  spoke  of  her  surprise  at 
the  great  emotion  she  had  witnessed  in  the 
morning. 

"  Had  you  known  the  emperor,"  said  all 
who  heard  her,  '•  it  would  have  caused  you  no 
astonishment." 

"  Would  it  surprise  you,"  asked  a  lady  pres* 


l# 


!  • 


ii 


VIENNA. 

ent,  "  to  see  children  weeping  at  the  grave  of  known  as  "  die  Amscl"  (the  blackbird).  T>yo 
a  father.'  The  emperor  was  more  than  a  fa-  handled  thousand  stand  of  arms,  are  at  pres- 
ther  to  us."  etit  kept  in  readiness  here,  and  fortified  bar- 

The  present  Emperor  of  Austria,  Francis  ,  racks  for  ten  thousand  men.  In  another 
Joseph,  goes  once  a  vear,  shuddering  and  !  arsenal  in  the  town  is  shown  the  immense 
shrinking.into  the  solemn  gloom  of  the  Loretto  blood-red  standard  the  Duke  of  Lorraine 
Chapel,  to  prav  amidst  the  silver  urns  which  ,  took  from  the  Turks,  and  the  head  of  the 
enshrine  the  hearts  of  the  deceased  members  ;  Vizier  Kara  Mustapha,  the  cord  with  which 
of  his  family.  The  church  to  which  this  he  was  strani^led  when  he  returned  in  defeat 
chapel  belongs  is  the  parish  church  of  the  from  his  expedition,  and  the  shirt  covered  with 
court,  and  contains  the  masterpiece  of  the  j  Arabic  inscriptions  from  the  Koran, 
famous  Italian  artist  Canova.  It  is  the  monu-  |  The  Ambras  Museum  occupies  seven  .-ooms, 
rnentof  the  Archduchess  Christine.  He  spent 
seven  years  upon    it.  and   after   his  death  the 


sculptor,  who  was  asked  to  devise  a  fitting 
monument  for  him,  felt  that  he  could  execute 
nothing  that  would  be  so  wortliy  of  his 
brother-artist's  greatness  as  a  copy  of  this 
tomb;  and  that  is  what  marks  Canova's  own 
burial-place  in  Venice. 

The  Votif  Kirchc  i, Votive  Church},  which  is 
in  the  suburbs,  is  a  new.  elaborate,  and  very 
costlv  Gothic  structure,  built  by  public  sub- 
scription, in  memory  of  the  hair-breadth 
escapeof  the  present  cmporor  from  an  attempt 
to  assassinate  him  in  1853,  when  lie  was  but 
three  and  twenty  years  of  age.  The  founda- 
tion-stone was  brought  from  the  Mount  of 
Olives,  and  it  was  laid  by  Krancis  Joseph 
himself  in   1S56. 

A.,  older  church  of  interest  is  that  called 
St.  Karl,  which  was  built  between  1713  and 
1737  ^"^  ^''^"  benevolent  Emperor  Charles  VI., 
in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  that  he  made  when  in 
the  former  year,  the  plague  was  devastating  his 
capital.  Two  lofty  columns,  at  each  side  of 
the  building,  show,  in  winding  bass-reliefs, 
events  in  the  life  of  Count  Carlo  Borromeo,  a 
celebrated  saint  in  the  Roman  Catholic  chmxh  ; 
but  thev  make  the  edifice  look  somewhat  like  a 
Turkish  mosque  with  its  minarets. 

The  Imperial  Arsenal  in  Vienna  is  open  to 
visitors  every  day,  by  tickets  obtained  at  the 
office  of  the  minister  of  war.  Here  may  be 
seeti,  festooned  around  the  walls  of  the  court- 
vard,  the  enormous  <hain  of  eight  thousand 
inks,  which  the  Turks,  when  they  besieged 
the  city,  under  Sultan  Solyman,  in  1529.  threw 
across  the  Danube  to  impede  the  navigation 
of  the  river.  Again,  in  1683,  the  Turks,  com- 
manded by  the  Grand  Vizier  Kara  Mustapha, 
aid  siege  to  Vienna;  and  then  the  city  was 
saved  by  the  gallant  Pole.  Sobieski,  and  the 
Duke  of  Lorraine.  Sobieski's  arinor  is  pre- 
served   111    this  museuin,    and   also   the   green 


and  contains  numerous  wonders.  Here  are 
the  horse-tail  standard  and  quiver  of  old 
Kara  Mustapha,  the  tomahawk  of  Montezuina, 
Emperor  of  Mexico,  and  a  nail,  two  feet  long, 
and  weighing  forty-two  pounds,  from  the 
famous  Pantheon  at  Rome.  And  here  is  a 
set  of  toys  made  for  the  children   of  Francis 


The  Chnrtli  of  St.   Charles  Horromeo. 

I.  of  France  and  Lieanor  of  Austria.  Think 
of  looking  at  tin:  very  playthings  wrought  for 
the  children  of  the  French  king,  who  met 
Henry  VIII.  of  England  on  the  celebrat- 
ed field  of  the  cloth  of  gold'.  The  cabinet 
of  minerals  in  this  inuseuin  has  a  very  large 
collection  of  aerolites,  or  stones  that  have 
fallen  from  the  sky.  One  of  these  visitors 
from  afar  weighs  seventy-one  pounds.  It  fell 
to  the  ground  in  Croatia  in  I75i' 

The  ancient  and  splendid  Belvedere  Palace, 
now  a  museum,  is  in  the  suburbs,  about  two 
miles  from  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral,  but  is 
easily  reached  by  an  omnibus.  It  consists  of 
two  buildings,  one  at  the  sumtnit,  the  other 


at  the  foot  of  the  hill.     The  Upper  Belvedere 
standard  of  Mahomet,  captured  in   the   battle  \  is   a   picture    gallery,    stored  with   invaluable 


he  gamed.    A  great  variety  of  cannon  is  stored 
in  this   arsenal,  and  one   small  field-piece  is 


works   by   the   old    masters.      It    contains    a 
mosaic  copy  of  Da  Vinci's  picture  of  the  Last 


VIENNA. 


243 


ackbird).  T>yo 
ns,  are  at  pres- 
id  fortified  bar- 
1.  In  another 
n  the  imtnense 
;e  of  Lorraine 
he  head  of  the 
^rd  with  which 
urned  in  defeat 
lirt  covered  with 
Coran. 

ies  seven  .-oorns, 
ders.     Here  are 

quiver  of  old 
:  of  Montezuma, 
,il,  two  feet  long, 
jnds,    from    the 

And  here  is  a 
dren  of  Francis 


Horromeo. 

Austria.  Think 
ings  wrought  for 
king,  who  met 
)n  the  celebrat- 
4!  The  cabinet 
lias  a  very  large 
tones  that  have 
of  tiiese  visitors 
;  pounds.     It  fell 

75 1- 

Jelvedere  Palace, 
burbs,  about  two 
Cathedral,  but  is 
!.  It  consists  of 
immit,  the  other 
Upper  Belvedere 
with  invaluable 
It  contains  a 
cture  of  the  Last 


Supper,  which  Napoleon  Bonaparte  engaged 
for  a  certain  sum,  and  it  was  taken  by  the 
Emperor  Fr&."''is  I.  at  the  same  price.  In 
the  library  of  this  building  is  preserved,  in  a 
glass  case,  Maxiiiiilian's  elegant  uniform, 
dabbled  with  his  blood,  and  a  red  sush  em- 
broidered and  heavily  fringed  with  gold. 
The  embroidery  was  the  work  of  his  poor 
Carlotta's  own  fair  hands;  and  her  last  act, 
before  the  painful  parting  with  her  husband 
in  Mexico,  was  to  tie  it  over  his  uniform. 
The  ill-fated  young  prince  wore  that  uniform 
concealed  under  his  mantle  when  led  forth  to 
meet  the  fatal  bullet.  The  Lower  IJelvedere 
contains  ancient  armor,  portraits  of  the  Ilaps- 
burg  family,  and  dresses  and  jewels  brought 
from  the  South  Sea  by  Captain  Cook. 


Equestrian  Statue  of  Prince  Charles  Schwarzenberg. 

In  the  imperial  palace  in  the  old  quarter  of 
the  city,  the  state  apartments  remain  as 
Maria  Theresa  left  them,  excepting  as  time 
has  marred  the  ancient  gilding  and  faded  the 
heavy  velvet  hangings.  The  library  of  this 
palace  is  a  splendid  one,  containing  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  volumes,  nearly 
as  many  engravings,  and  sixteen  thousand 
manuscripts,  some  of  which  were  written 
nearly  two  hundred  years  before  the  New 
Testament  was.  It  requires  a  descent  to  go 
from  this  library  to  the  imperial  stable,  but 
the  Austrians  delight  in  noble  horses,  and  the 
emperor's  stalls  are  quite  worth  visiting.     In 


the  "dark  stable"  ninety  superb  sleek  black 
horses  live  in  the  height  of  Ajuine  luxury. 
Before  each  stall  lies  a  white  mat,  on  which  the 
hostler  must  wipe  his  feet  before  st.'ppin*? 
upon  the  carpet  of  nice  white  straw  within. 
The  "  white  stable "  is  the  empress's,  and 
there  are  also  the  bay  and  the  gray,  all  similar 
in  appointments.  It  would  seem  as  though 
horses  might  be  long-lived  here;  and  in  the 
Vienna  Museum  of  Natural  History  is  pre- 
served a  horse  that  died  in  the  emperor's 
stable  forty  years  of  age.  Another,  in  the  same 
place,  is  covered  with  woolly  hair,  like  a  poodle 
dog.  This  museum  has  an  immense  goose, 
and  a  pigeon,  each  with  four  legs. 

About  two  miles  out  from  Vienna  is  Schon- 
brunn  (Pretty  Fountain),  the  usual  summer 
residence  of  the  imperial  family.  This  large 
and  magnificently  furnished  palace,  which  takes 
its  name  from  a  beautiful  fountain,  decorated 
with  the  statue  of  a  nymph  that  stands  in  its 
grounds,  was  built  by  Maria  Theresa,  and  was 
her  favorite  residence.  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
made  his  headquarters  here  both  times  that  his 
troops  held  Vienna,  in  1805  and  in  1809;  and 
here  his  son  lived  and  died  in  the  same  room 
and  on  the  same  bed  his  illustrious  father  had 
occupied.  The  visitor  now  walks  through 
certain  rooms,  frescoed  in  Mexican  designs, 
that  were  Maximilian's  apartments.  One 
little  chamber,  with  tapestry  work  and  paint- 
ings, set  in  the  walls  and  i)rotccted  by  glass 
cases,  is  the  room  in  which  Maria  Theresa 
and  her  daughters  sat  together  engaged  in 
needle-work.  Among  the  portraits  in  this 
palace  are  seen  those  of  this  stirring  queen 
and  her  unhappy  daughter  Marie  Antoinette. 
The  extensive  grounds  belonging  to  Schon- 
brunn  contain  a  menagerie,  and  very  rich 
botanical  gardens. 

Vienna  abounds  in  parks  or  squares.  Among 
them,  the  one  known  as  the  Prater  is  em- 
phatically "  the  Common  '  of  the  capital,  and 
is  four  miles  long.  The  fashionable  drive  in 
this  immense  park  extends  half  a  mile,  and 
beyond  it  is  the  Prater  of  the  common  people, 
called  the  Wiirstel,  or  Sausage  Park,  because, 
on  all  holid.iys,  immense  quantities -of  sau- 
sages (  IVilrte)  are  always  smoking  here,  and 
pleasure-seekers  are  continually  rt;;aling  upon 
the  savory  compound.  The  Prater  has  wide, 
open  spaces,  charming  thickets,  and  large 
herds  of  graceful,  agile  deer,  which  are  to 
tame  that  they  will  eat  from  strangers'  hands. 
The  pretty  creatures  are  called  to  one  spot  for 
their  supper  by  the  notes  of  the  Jttger's  horn. 
A  small  but  very  attractive  park,  is  called  the 
Volksgarten,   or  People's   Garden.     There  i> 


VIENNA. 


( 


H 


here  a  fine  colossal  group  of  sculpture  in 
Carrara  marble  —  Theseus  killing  the  Minotaur 
—  made  by  Canova.  It  was  executed  by  an 
order  from  Bonaparte,  who  purposed  to  have 
It  dtcorale  the  arch  of  the  Simplori  at  Milan; 
but  upon  his  downfall  it  fe!'.  into  the  hands 
of  the  Emperor  of  Austria.  One  part  of  the 
Volksgarten  is  marked  off  by  a  wire  fence  as 
belonging  to  Strauss,  •'  the  king  of  dance- 
music."  Every  afternoon  tlicre  is  a  concert  in 
this  park,  and  Strauss  conducts  two  of  them 
every  week.  The  Garten  is  a  gay  scene  in  the 
evening,  when  numerous  lamps  are  shining 
through  the  flowers  and  shrubbery,  and  the 
beautiful  fountain  in  the  centre  is  also  bril- 
liantly illuminated.  Another  square  has  a 
lovely  fountain  decorated  with  five  bronze  fig- 
ures, representing  Austria  and  her  four  princi- 
pal rivers  —  the  Danube,  the  Vistula,  the  Elbe, 
and  the  Po. 

Kquestrian   statues  are  a  noticeable  feature 
of  the  public  places  in  Vienna.     The  central 
court  of  the  Imperial  Palace,   which   is   now 
called  Franzensplatz,    has   a  colossal  bronze 
one   o''  Francis   I.,    supported  by   figures   of 
Religion,  Justice,    Peace,  and   Fortitude.     It 
was  erected  in  1846.     The  emperor  is  repre- 
sented as  blessing  his  people,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  the  face  is  happy;  but  the  limbs  and 
drapery  are  awkward.    Separated  from  Franz- 
ensplatx  by  a  railing  with  gilt  spear  heads  is 
an  esplanade   that   adjoins  the    Volk$gartcn. 
It   is  adorned  with  trees,  Howers,  and  foun- 
tains, and  furnished  with  seats,  but  it  is  not 
open  to  the  public.      Here  are  bronze  eques- 
trian  statues   of  the    Archduke   Charles,  the 
conqueror  of  Napoleon  in  "  the  tremendous 
battle  of  Aspern,"  and   of  the   brave  Prince 
Eugene    of  Savoy    in   the    military  costume 
of  his  time  —  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century.       The    square    called    yoseplnflatz 
contains  a  colossal   equf.strian  statue,  which 
Francis  I.  erected,  in  »oo6,  in  memory  of  his 
uncle,  the  Emperor  Joseph  II.,  son  of  Maria 
Theresa.      And   a  colossal   statue    of   Maria 
Theresa  has  also  been  set  up  to  commemorate 
her  as  the  founder  of  the  Military  Academy. 
It  is  surrounded  by  figures  of  Religion,  Justice, 
Wisdom,  and  Strength.     Francis  Joseph   in- 
tends, it  is  said,  to  have  magnificent  statues 
of   all   the  emperors  of   Austria   erected    in 
Vienna. 

The  educational  and  literary  advantages  of 
Vienna  are  remarkable,  and  also  its  charitable 
institutions.  Orphans,  the  children  of  sol- 
diers and  of  very  poor  parents,  are  taught 
gratuitously,  schoolmasters  being  required 
10  take  twenty-five  poor  children  as  free  pupils 


among  every  one  hundred  scholars  they  have, 
while  the  state  provides  these  needy  little  folks 
with   books.     Rarely  is  any  one  found  here 
who  has  not  been  taught  to  read,  and  instruct- 
ed  in   the   first   principles   of  religion.     The 
Vienna  University  is  over  six  hundred  years 
old,    though   its  present   building   is   one   of 
Maria  Theresa's  works.     It  has  three  lUirdred 
students,  of  whom  the  larger  number  are  free 
pupils,  the  salaries  of  the  one  hundred  and 
twelve   professors   coming  wholly    from    the 
state.    This  institution  is  very  celebrated  as  a 
school  of  medicine.    The  deaf  and  dumb  in 
Vienna  are  very  tenderly  cared  for,  and  care- 
fully instructed;  and  it  is  from  this  clas«.  who 
are  little  tempted  to  gossip,  that  persons  are 
selected  for  such  business  of  the  state  as  re- 
quires secrecy. 

One  of  the  latest  handsome  buildings  added 
to  the  structures  of  Vienna  is  a  large  Opera 
House,  which  has  a  very  imposing  facade,  and 
is  decorated  with  arches,  porticos,  arcades,  and 
numerous  pilasters.  It  is  in  the  style  of  art 
termed  the  Renaissance^  which  was  revived 
by  Raphael,  and  is  less  stiff  than  the  ancient, 
but  a  modification  of  it. 

On  Sundays  Vienna  looks  like  "  a  city  de- 
populated by  the  plague;  "  for  after  mass  the 
people  rush  out  of  town  on  excursions  to  the 
Prater,  the  suburbs,  or  still  farther  into  the 
country.  But  a  gentleman  who,  some  years 
since,  was  staying  here  for  a  while,  walked 
out  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  and  says,  — 

"  In  the  court-yard  of  one  house,  into  which 
I  looked,  I  saw  a  little  boy  reading  aloud  from 
a  book.  He  told  me  that  he  was  eight  years 
old,  and  that  he  did  this  every  Sunday.  I 
took  his  book,  and  -.aw  that  he  was  reading 
the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke.  He  said  it  was  the 
gospel  for  the  day,  and  that  many  boys,  m  a 
similar  manner,  read  the  gospels  on  a  Sunday 
before  the  houses  of  Vienna.  When  he  had 
finished,  there  descended  on  him,  from  the 
upper  stories,  a  grateful  shower  of  kreuzers 
wrapped  in  paper." 


.^^ 


ADVENTURES    OF    A    WILD    GOOSE. 


245 


lars  they  have, 
ed}'  little  folks 
rie  found  here 
1,  and  instruct- 
religion.  The 
hundred  years 
ng  is  one  of 
three  inindred 
umber  are  free 
;  hundred  and 
oily  from  the 
celebrated  as  a 
■  and  dumb  in 
for,  and  care- 
this  clas«-  who 
at  persons  are 
he  state  as  re- 

juildings  added 
i  a  large  Opera 
ing  facade,  and 
OS,  arcades,  and 
he  Style  of  art 
;h  was  revived 
an  the  ancient, 

ike  "  a  city  de- 
after  mass  the 
rursions  to  the 
arthcr  into  the 
'ho,  some  years 
I  while,  walked 
id  says,  — 
)use,  into  which 
ding  aloud  from 
,vas  eight  years 
■ery  Sunday.  I 
he  was  reading 
said  it  was  the 
many  boys,  m  a 
els  on  a  Sunday 
When  he  had 
him,  from  the 
ver  of  kreuzers 


ADVENTUEES  OF  A  WILD  GOOSE. 

AN    OBNITHOIiOaiCAIi    SKETCH  B7    A 
HUNTEK-NATUBAHST. 


THE    BIRD    ISLANDS    OF    THE    ARCTIC    SEA. 

A  STRANGER,  I  had  visited  the  town  of 
C,  situated  on  one  of  the  larger  harbors 
of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  on  a  quest  of 
some  little  difficulty,  as  it  involved  an  unset- 
tled claim  for  marine  insurance  ;  but  I  received 
a  kindly  welcome,  and  among  the  many  pleas- 
ant acquaintances  I  there  formed,  none  inter- 
ested me  more  than  Major  Orlebar. 

One  of  the  younger  sons  of  an  old  English 
family,  he  received  a  good  education,  and  a 
commission  in  the  army,  and  for  some  years, 
as  a  subaltern,  led  that  life  of  genteel  poverty 
which  has  been  the  lot  of  so  many  of  the 
"younger  sons"  of  English  gentlemen.  At 
last  a  few  short  months  of  active  service,  and 
a  day  or  two  of  sharp  fighting,  left  him  an 
open  road  to  the  majority,  which  had  s'eemed 
so  unattainable,  and  he  returned  to  England, 
to  fall  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  the  rector 
of  his  parish. 

With  prompt  decision  he  sold  out  his  com- 
mission, married  his  loving  though  dowerless 
bride,  and  crossing  the  ocean,  bought  a  half- 
cleared  farm,  and  settled  down  as  one  of  the 
'•  gentlemen  farmers  "  of  C. 

It  is  much  to  be  doubted  if  the  disapproval 
of  his  course,  freely  uttered  by  his  relatives, 
•was  at  all  warranted  ;  his  pay  would  never  have 
been  more  than  adequate  to  his  own  support 
in  fitting  style ;  while  the  money  received 
for  his  major's  commission  —  some  twenty 
thousand  dollars  —  gave  him  at  once  a  com- 
fortable home,   a   farm   from  which  he  could 


draw  a  fair  yearly  income,  and  a  comparative- 
ly higher  social  position  among  the  poor  and 
uneducated  colonists  than  he  could  have  se- 
cured at  home. 

At  all  events,  I  never  saw  a  happier,  more 
contented  man  than  he  was,  when,  ten  years 
after,  I  met  him,  as  an  invited  guest,  amid  the 
old-time  pleasures  and  jocund  festivities  of 
an  English  Christmas. 

I  can  almost  see  that  happy  circle  now,  as 
after  a  furious  game  of  "  blindman's  buff,"  we 
seated  ourselves  around  the  huge  wood  fire, 
where  Yule  logs  of  huge  size  crackled  and 
blazed  merrily,  giving  at  once  grateful  warmth, 
and  that  flaring,  changeful  light  so  favorable 
to  the  enjoyment  of  story-telling.  There  were 
the  major,  with  his  grave,  pleasant  face ;  his 
wife,  with  their  eldest  boy  resting  his  curly 
head  in  her  lap ;  little  May,  climbing  deftly  to 
her  father's  knee ;  two  young  English  girls, 
who  had  sought  a  home  with  their  sister  after 
the  old  rector's  death,  and  were  now,  appar- 
ently, pretty  certain  of  soon  overseeing  homes 
of  their  own  —  if  one  could  judge  by  the  ardor 
with  which  two  young  farmers  of  the  neigh- 
borhood anticipated  their  slightest  wish,  and 
improved  each  opportunity  which  "ye  Merry 
Christmas  "  is  famous  for  affording  to  lover 
and  maiden. 

"You  promised  us,"  said  little  May,  "to 
tell  us  about  the  life  of  poor  Senunk." 

"  Perhaps,  dear,"  said  her  father,  "  our 
older  friends  would  prefer  to  hear  something 
more  interesting  tlian  the  simple  story  of  the 
wanderings  of  a  poor  M'ingless  goose." 

With  one  accord,  all  present  averred  that 
nothing  would  suit  them  better;  and  I  must 
confess  that,  for  my  own  part,  I  have  seldom 
heard  a  tale  that  interested  me  more  than  this 
little  bird  romance  of  a  true  hunter-naturalist, 


~'^a 


i 


'i 
1 1 


llifl 


246 


ADVENTURES    OF     A.    WILD    GOOSE. 


and  can  only  regret  that  my  young  friends 
could  not  have  heard  it  from  the  same  source. 

"You  will  all  of  you  remember  our  pen  of 
wild  geese  in  the  poultry-yard  we  visited  to- 
day, and  as  I  called  particular  attention  to  him 
—  that  wingless  bird,  which  ate  out  of  May's 
hand.  It  is  the  only  specimen  I  have  now 
living  of  the  Brent  Goose  {Anser  Bertiiclca), 
a  species  of  bird  very  plentiful  on  this  coast, 
and  in  which  I  take  a  great  interest,  both  as 
furnishing  unexcelled  food  and  sport,  and  as  a 
species  whose  young  are  hatched  and  reared 
where  no  living  ma"  has  ever  trod. 

"I  have  associated  much  with  Senunk 
since  the  time  I  found  him  half  frozen,  with 
two  broken  wings,  three  years  ago ;  and  for 
days  in  spring  and  fall  he  has  imparted  to 
me  much  knowledge  of  his  tribe,  and  their 
habits,  as  we  have  watched  together,  seek- 
ing to  decoy  and  slay  his  wild  congeners. 
This  is  what  Senunk  has  told  mc,  on  the  icy 


floe,  and  »mic1  the  tangled  reeds  of  the  shal- 
low harbors  :  — 

"  I  was  borne  far  to  the  northward  in  an 
ocean  on  which  no  sail  ever  glistened,  and  no 
oar  or  paddle  ever  measured,  with  sharp-smit- 
ing strokes,  the  swifl  course  of  boat  or  canoe. 
Ou-  nest— for  I  had  six  brothers  and  sisters 
—  was  one  of  a  myriad  small,  rocky  islets, 
which  rose  far  from  any  land  in  the  midst  of 
that  mysterious  sea;  our  islet  was  very  small, 
being,  in  fact,  nothing  but  a  water-worn  rock, 
three  fac.  s  of  which  were  steep  and  jagged, 
while  the  fourth  sloped  gently  down  into  the 
sea.  It  contained  but  three  nests,  those  of 
my  parents  and  grand-parents. 

"For  the  first  few  days  I  remember  noth- 
ing, except  that  our  parents  brought  us  for 
food  many  sweet  little  shrimps,  and  other 
tiny  mollusca,  and  at  times,  although  mo-  • 
rarely,  the  tender  marine  plants  which  grow 
deep  down  in  the  sheltering  waves,  below  the 


reach  of  frost.  It  was  only  after  heavy  gales 
that  we  could  procure  this  sea-wrack,  and  we 
looked  up  >n  it  as  a  great  luxury  ;  for,  as  a 
general  thing,  we  live  only  on  vegetable  food. 
"  It  was  but  a  few  days  before  we  took  our 
first  lessons  in  swimming;  and  soon  I  found 
myself  paddling  clumsily  around  in  the  shal- 
lows, and  eagerly  gathering  with  my  little 
bill  the  infusoria,  or  tiny  insects,  with  which 
those  northern  waters,  at  certain  seasons, 
may  almost  be  said  to  be  alive.  I  soon 
satisfied  my  hunger,  however,  and  striving  up 
the,  to  me,  steep  ascent  of  the  shelving  rock, 
I  reached  the  highest  point,  from  which  I 
could  survey  the  strange  scene  before  me. 

"Around  me,  in  the  shallow  water,  on  the 
naked  rocks,  in  the  blue  sky  above,  all  was 
life,  for  the  millions  of  our  race  seek  this  deso- 
late sea  from  the  coasta  and  harbors  of  two 
continents.  Every  where  the  mother  birds 
led  their  callow  young  over  the  shallows,  or 
brought  on  swift  wing  some 
dainty  morsel,  picked  up  far 
beyond  the  reach  of  ouryouth- 
ful  vision.  The  rocks  above 
were  crowded  with  nests, 
for  many  young  birds  had 
fallen  behind  in  their  north- 
ward migration,  and  their 
eggs,  as  a  consequence,  would 
not  be  hatclied  for  some  days ; 
while  overhead,  flocks  of  male 
birds  were  darting  to  and  fro 
on  long  flights  to  far  distant 
shores. 

"  As  I  sat  dreamily  open- 
ing and  shutting  my  eyes,  I 
was  suddenly  disturbed  by  a  sudden  "whis- 
s-sh  of  wings,  a  glimpse  of  a  huge  white  bird, 
and  a  sudden  s'love  which  sent  me  head- 
long into  the  water  twenty  feet  below.  I 
plunged  under,  but  coming  to  the  surface, 
regained  my  balance  and  my  breath,  to  find 
that  I  had  been  thus  rudely  sent  overboard  by 
my  grandfather,  who  stood  above,  threatening 
with  beak  and  wings  a  huge  gull,  who  found 
himself  balked  of  his  intended  supper,  and 
was  glad  to  retreat  from  the  myriads  of  angry 
birds  which  immediately  surrounded  him. 

"This  was  but  the  commencement  of  a 
life  of  continual  exposure  to  never-ceasing 
persecutions  and  ever-attendant  peril.  Some- 
times a  huge  falcon  would  descend  into  the 
'  midst  of  a  young  brood,  and  seizing  a  young 
goslin  in  his  talons,  would  bear  his  victim 
away  at  a  rate  of  speed  which  defied  pursuit. 
Sometimes,  as  the  water  was  covered  with 
quietly-feeding  birds,   the  stillness  would   be 


ADVENTURES    OF    A    WILD    GOOSE. 


247 


:er  lieavy  jjales 
wrack,  and  we 
ury;  lor,  as  a 
vegetable  food, 
ru  we  took  our 
soon  I  found 
d  in  the  shal- 
with    iny  Kule 
ts,  with  which 
rtain    seasons, 
ive.      I    soon 
nd  striving  up 
shelving  rock, 
from   which  I 
before  me. 
w  water,  on  the 
above,  ail  was 
seek  this  deso- 
harbors  of  two 
e  mother  birds 
he  shallows,  or 
ivift  wing  some 
,  picked  up  far 
chofouryouth- 
he  rocks  above 
d     with    nests, 
uiig   birds   had 
in  their  north- 
on,     and    tlieir 
iequence,  would 
i  for  some  days ; 
d,  flocks  of  male 
rting  to  and  fro 
ts  to  far  distant 

dreamily  open- 
ling  my  eyes,  I 
sudden  "whis- 
luge  white  bird, 
sent  me  head- 
feet  below.  I 
to  the  surface, 
breath,  to  find 
nt  overboard  by 
3ve,  threatening 
gull,  who  found 
5d  supper,  and 
lyriads  of  angry 
)uiided  him. 
nencement  of  a 
}  never-ceasing 
it  peril.  Some- 
escend  into  the 
seizing  a  young 
bear  his  victim 
1  defied  pursuit, 
s  covered  with 
Iness  would   be 


suddenly  broken  by  a  loud  splash,  the  flutter- 
ing of  a  new  victim,  and  the  roar  of  the 
wings,  and  discordant  cries  of  the  thousands 
of  birds  thus  disturbed  by  the  deadly  rush  of 
the  Greenland  shark. 

"At  last  my  mother  almost  gave  way  under 
her  constant  anxieties.  '  Let  us  leave  this 
place,'  said  she,  '  or  I  shall  lose  all  my  chil- 
dren.' At  her  words  my  grandfather  turned 
and  said  gravely,  — 

"  '  For  us,  from  the  day  cf  our  birth  amid 
these  desolate  rocks,  and  these  mysterious 
seas,  until  the  hour  when  we  fall  before  animal 
craft  or  human  wile,  there  is  no  peace,  no 
sure  safety.  Here  our  numbers  repel  the  pre- 
daceous  birds,  for  the  most  part, 
and  the  few  who  fall  a  prey  to 
shark  and  seal  are  generally  vic- 
tims to  their  own  want  of  cau- 
tion. All  happiness  and  safety 
are  comparative,  and  in  these 
islet  fastnesses  we  find  a  peaceful 
refuge  denied  us  elsewhere.' 

"  It  was  of  no  use,  however,  for 
my  grandfather  to  talk,  and  be- 
sides, the  food  supply  lessened  as 
our  numbers  increased,  and  we 
were  forced  at  last  to  seek  anoth- 
er location,  where  there  were  not 
so  many  mouths  to  be  fed.  The 
families  of  my  four  grandparents 
numbered  four  old  and  twelve 
young  birds,  and  our  eight  more, 
old  and  young,  so  that  twenty 
of  us  were  gathered  together  on 
the  old  home  rock,  the  evening  be- 
fore we  flew  away  to  commence, 
for  the  younger  birds  at  least,  a 
new  and  untried  life. 

"It  was  late  in  August,  and  al- 
ready the  nights  were  chill,  and 
the  winds,  when  they  blew  east  or 
west,  came  laden  with  sleet  and 
hail,  while  around  our  islets  the*^* 
young  sharp  ice  began  to  form,  to  be  broken 
by  the  tough  legs  of  our  comrades,  and 
ploughed  through  by  huge  chill  icebergs,  set 
loose  by  the  autumnal  gales  from  their  gla- 
cial birthplace  far  away  across  the  open 
sea.  I  shall  never  forget  that  evening,  for 
the  sun  was  low  down  near  the  horizon,  and 
the  soft  south  wind  which  had  sprung  up 
wafted  the  massy  bergs  gently  from  the  shal- 
lows into  the  eddying  currents  of  that  warm 
tide,  which  flows  from  the  tropics  to  the  poles  ; 
and  as  the  white  spires  and  snowy  pinnacles 
gyrated  slowly,  tinted  with  a  flood  of  crimson 
glory  and  refracted  light,  the  surjeless  eddies 


reflected,  in  ever-changing;  mockery,  fantastic 
shadows  of  a  scene  whose  beaut  ■  '  can  never 
forget. 

'•  But  my  grandsire,  who,  from  his  age  and 
experience,  was  looked  upon  as  the  leader  of 
our  party,  commenced  conveying  to  us  his 
final  instructions  for  the  next  day's  journey- 
ings. 

"  'We  leave  to-morrow,'  said  he,  '  the  only 
place  of  safety  now  left  to  our  persecuted 
race.  I  see  no  alternative,  for  the  supply  of 
food  will  otherwise  be  inadequate  to  the  wants 
of  the  younger  broods.  To-morrow  we  shall 
seek  the  shores  of  the  main  land,  where  new 
dangers  will  await  us  —  the  midnight  attack  of 


the  arctic  owl,  the  stealthy  assault  of  the  fox, 
and  the  clumsy  cunning  of  the  polar  bear. 

"'Trust  only  to  continual  vigilance,  and  a 
close  attention  to  the  counsels  of  your  elders, 
and  remember  never  to  stray  by  land  "or  water 
far  from  the  main  body,  for  it  is  with  numbers 
alone  that  we  can  meet  the  talons  and  sharp 
beaks  of  our  bloodthirsty  enemies,  the  owl  and 
falcon.' 

"  I  remember  still  that  northern  islet-studded 
sea,  the  father-land  of  our  winged  millions, 
as  it  looked  when,  in  the  early  dawn,  I  gazed 
upon  it  for  the  last  time.  The  huge  isolated 
rocks,  washed  by  the  desolate  sea ;  the  ever- 


:4s 


ADVENTUR1!:S    OF    A    WILD    GOOSE. 


shifting  icebergs  gliding  along  in  the  distance 
like  luige  sliip.s,  to  dasii  against  <.ach  otlicr,  or 
be  overwhelmed  between  the  mighty  surges 
and  the  outer  eliU's  of  tlie  archipelago;  the 
crowded  masses  of  mothcr-liirds  witli  tlieir 
young  broods  upon  tl-.e  rocky  slopes;  the 
countless  thousands  v  liich  fetl  and  swam  over 
the  shallows,  with  the  constant  llight  of  large 
flocks  to  east,  and  west,  and  south,  are  still 
before  my  memory,  and  each  returning  spring 
brings  back  lo  each  of  our  race  a  homesick 
longing  which  is  almost   irresistible. 

"  But  I  thought  little  of  wh.it  the  future 
might  have  in  store  for  me,  and  as,  with  a 
cry  of  farewell  and  encouragement,  the  older 
birds  sprang  into  the  air,  tluir young  followed, 
at  first  in  a  confused,  ilisorderly  rush,  which 
gradually  resolved  itself  into  a  sharply-detined 
and  wedge-like  phalanx,  of  which  the  eldest 
formed  the  point,  and  the  youngest  and  weak- 
est the  last  on  the  diverging  flank-lines. 

"  It  was  nearly  night  when  far  ahead  we  saw 
before  us  the  snow-covered  cliifs,  which  stood 
on  either  side  of  the  entrance  of  the  harbor  we 
were  seeking ;  but  as  the  sun  sank  low  down 
in  the  horizon,  we  rapidly  ncared  our  haven, 
sweeping  down  from  our  lofty  flight  between 
the  sentinel  cliffs,  when  from  behind  them 
rang  a  shrill  scream,  and  in  an  instant  a 
broad-winged  falcon  towered  high  above  our 
trembling  company. 

"'Alight,  and  face  him  with  beak  and 
wings,'  shouted  my  grandsirc,  promply  set- 
ting the  example,  which  was  followed  by  the 
rest,  but  too  late;  for  as  the  leading  birds 
splashed  into  the  water,  my  youngest  brother, 
the  last  of  the  flock,  fell  dead  among  us,  with 
his  white  breast-feathers  crimsoned  with  the 
drops  that  oozed  from  his  wounded  brain.  We 
had  no  resource  but  to  leave  his  bod_'  to  the 
triumohant  butcher,  who,  with  shrill  screams, 
circled  above  us  until  we  took  wing,  and  flew 
into  the  strange  haven,  weary  and  sad  at 
heart. 

"  '  Behold,  O  m_v  children,'  said  our  grand- 
sire,  '  ■"  foretaste  of  the  perils  which  await  us. 
One  victim  has  already  fallen ;  and  on  every 
hand  you  may  hear  the  shrill  bark  of  the  arc 
tic  fox ;  while  over  these  shifting  floes,  alike  in- 
different to  the  crash  of  icebergs  or  the  over- 
whelming seas,  roams  the  huge  but  noiseless 
and  terrible  polar  bear.  A  watch  must  be  kept 
by  night  and  d.iv,  for  the  perils  which  are  past 
are  as  nothing  to  the  mortal  dangers  which  lie 
before' 

"Twice  that  night  did  our  watchful  elders 
warn  us  in  season  of  the  noiseless  approach 
of  the  foxes,  and  as  many  times  had  we  re- 


moved to  more  isolated  ice-fields,  until  at  last 
we  were  several  miles  from  the  shore.  The 
full  moon  silvered  berg,  floe,  and  motionless 
sea,  gilding  even  the  barren  and  misshapen 
clifl'  with  that  softetied  radiance  which  gives 
to  all  things  some  share  of  unreal  bc.".uty. 
Resting  on  a  small  floe  we  slept,  but  the  old 
birds  by  turns  watched  as  anxiously  as  ever. 
I  awoke  with  a  sense  of  peril  for  which  there 
was  no  apparent  cause,  for  nothing  was  in 
sight  but  a  few  small  fragments  of  floating 
ice,  of  varied  shape,  one  of  which  was,  if  any- 
thing, a  little  more  rounded  than  the  rest. 

"  One  by  one  they  came  within  our  circle  of 
attraction,  and  adhered  to  our  tloe.  At  last  I 
missed  the  rounded  fragment,  but  looking 
downward,  saw  with  half-shut  eyes  a  white 
mass  shooting  up  from  the  depths  of  the  sea. 
I  heard  the  thrilling  alarm-cry  of  our  sentinel, 
as  they  brake  into  sudden  foam,  and  a  pair  of 
armed  jaws  yawned  below  fiercely  glaring  eyes. 
A  powerful  blow  swept  among  us,  and  the 
body  of  one  of  i;  y  companions,  hurled  along 
like  a  stone  from  a  sling,  struck  just  before  me, 
and  rebounding,  flung  me  into  the  seji. 

"  I  was  unhurt,  however,  and  taking  to  flight, 
joined  the  flock,  as,  unwilling  to  desert  our 
murdered  companions,  we  wheeled  with  wild 
cries  around  the  glittering  berg,  on  which,  as 
on  a  throne,  huge,  powerful,  stealthy,  and 
merciless,  sst  triumphantly  devouring  our  lost 
ones,  the  monarch  of  the  undiscovered  sea, 
the  ranger  of  the  untrodden  floes,  the  terrible 
polar  bear. 

"As  we  sought,  in  fear  and  sorrow,  an  iso- 
lated ••ock,  which  rose  high  with  steep  and 
shelving  sides  above  the  sea,  I  listened  to  the 
voices  of  my  grieving  companions,  now  re- 
duced in  number  to  seventeen.  Two  of  our 
leaders  had  fallen  before  that  ter.rible  paw :  we 
were  orphans." 


.'Ills,  until  at  last 
tliL-  sliore.  The 
,  utui  motionless 

aiul    ini^sliapen 

ncc  which   gives 

unreal   bc.",uty. 

ept.  but  the  old 

xiously  as  ever. 

for  wliicii  there 
nothing  was  in 
ents  of  floating 
lich  was,  if  anv- 
lan  the  rest, 
hin  our  circle  of 
r  tloe.  At  last  I 
nt,  but  looking 
ut  eyes  a  white 
epths  of  the  sea. 
f  of  our  sentinel, 
in,  and  a  pair  of 
;ely  glaring  eyes, 
ing  us,  and  the 
ns,  hurled  along 
k  just  before  me, 
3  the  se!i. 
J  taking  to  flight, 
ig  to  desert  our 
leeled  with  wild 
rg,  on  which,  as 
I,  stealthy,  and 
vouring  our  lost 
ndiscovered  sea, 
loes,  the  terrible 

I  sorrow,  an  iso- 
with  steep  and 
I  listened  to  the 
anions,  now  re- 
5n.  Two  of  our 
ter.rible  paw :  we 


ADVENTURES    OF    A    WILD    GOOSE. 


249 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  WILD  GOOSE. 

AN   ORNITHOLOOICAIi     SKETCH    Br   A 
HUNTER-NATURAIilST. 


PART     II. 


TIIK     FI-ORIDA 


I 


COAST.        THE     SPRING     MIGRA- 
TION. 

T  was  late  in  the  montli  of  November 
when  we  arrived  at  our  winter  quarters, 
on  the  eastern  coast  of  Florida.  On  leaving 
the  Oulf  of  .St.  Lawrence,  where  the  myriads 
of  our  migrating  hosts  had  rendezvoused,  we 
crossed  the  great  Tantramar  marsh,  lying  be- 
tween n.ny  Verte  and  the  head  of  the  Hay  of 
I'undy,  and  passed  on,  with  little  stay  for 
food  or  rest,  towards  our  southern  destina- 
tion. 

"  No  heavy  sea-fogs  bewildered  the  sight 
of  our  leaders  ;  no  heavy  gales  arose  to  chill 
and  benumb  the  weak  and  infirm,  ond  the 
boatmen  of  Cohasset  and  Cape  Cod,  and  the 
gunners  of  Long  Island,  and  Barncgat,  and 
the  Chesapeake,  bewailed  their  lost  time  and 
useless  weapons,  as  they  saw,  day  by  d.iy,  the 
mild,  warm  rays  of  the  autumn  sun  gleam 
from  a  cloudless  sky  upon  an  unruffled  sea, 
while  we  swept  swiftly  southward,  far  away 
from  the  treacherous  shore,  and  its  thousand 
perils,  resting  now  and  then  on  the  ever- 
throbbing  ocean,  to  sleep  through  the  hours 
of  darkness,  or  snatch  a  hasty  meal,  amid  a 
floating  bed  of  sea-wrack. 

"At  last,  diverging  to  the  south-west,  we 
saw  the  low,  white  outlines  of  Cape  Carnav- 
eral,  and  passing  inside  of  Cape  Florida,  the 
northern  island  promontory  of  the  Florida 
Keys,  we  saw  before  us  the  shallow  waters, 
low,  verdant  shores,  arid  sti'l  lagoons  of  our 
winter  home.  No  signs  of  the  presence  of 
man  was  visible,  save  the  battered  timbers  of 
some  long-stranded  wreck,  or  the  distant  sail 
of  wrecker  or  fisherman. 

"At  low  tide,  leagues  of  limestone,  covered 
with  a  whitish  ooze,  from  which  sprang  cluster- 
ing sponges  and  delicate  corallines,  lay  be- 
tween the  breaking  surf  and  sloping  sand- 
beaches  of  the  inner  islands  and  the  main 
shore,  which  were  strewn  with  millions  of 
shells,  of  all  shapes,  colors,  and  sizes.  With- 
in the  tiny  harbors,  or  rather  lagoons,  grew 
dense  forests  of  white  and  black  mangroves, 
which  reared  their  tall  trunks  on  arching 
roots,  which  raised  them  far  above  the  oozy 
mud,  into  which  their  slender  branches 
drooped,  to  bo  covered  with  clustering  oys- 
ters, barnacles,  and  other  shell-fish,  around 
which,    at   high   tide,   gathered  the   delicious 


sheep's-head,  sea-trout,  mullet,  rock-tlsh,  and 
a  score  of  other  species  of  beautiful  and  de- 
licious sea-lish. 

"  The  s)K)res  were  covered  with  ever-verdant 
herbage,  and  perennial  shrubs,  and  plants, 
among  which  were  conspicuous  the  impen- 
etrable thickets  of  Palmetto  Royal,  or  Adam's 
Needle  (yucca  glorioaa).  This  curious  plant 
was  our  great  natural  defence  from  the  intru- 
sion of  man,  or  of  beasts  of  prey  on  lur  fa- 
vorite haunts.  Properly  an  herbaceous  plant, 
it  at  first  presents  but  a  cluster  of  long,  nar- 
row, sword-like  leaves,  of  a  perfect  green, 
eniling  in  a  stiff,  sharp  point,  with  ctenated 
edges.  As  it  grows,  however,  it  develops  a 
ligneous  stem,  ten  or  twelve  feet  high,  crowned 
with  a  chaplet  of  its  annual  foliage,  and 
crested  with  a  pyramid  of  bell-like  blossoms, 
of  a  silver  white,  which,  in  their  turn,  give 
place  to  an  edible  purple  fruit. 

"These  plants  lined  the  edges  of  the  wood- 
ed upland  with  c/icvaux-de-fn'sc,  scarce  pen- 
etrable by  a  bird  or  rat,  and  beyond  them 
were  reared  the  pride  of  a  Floridian  forest, 
the  blended  beauties  of  the  temperate  and  the 
torrid  zones.  There  the  cypress  rose  from  the 
lower  grounds,  with  the  glossy-leaved  tupelo, 
and  the  broad-armed  sweet-b.ay,  and  near  at 
hand  the  water-oak  showered  down  its  sweet- 
kerneled  acorns,  and  the  dwarf  prickly  pal- 
metto spread  its  fan-shaped  leaves.  Farther 
up  were  lofty  broom  pines,  graceful  magno- 
lias and  kalmias,  the  green-leaved  holly  with 
its  coral  berries,  and  pines,  and  palms  of  many 
kinds,  blending  their  varied  foliage,  in  strik- 
ing but  beautiful  contrast,  softened,  some- 
what, by  the  weird,  all-pervading  drapery 
which  the  Spanish  moss  cast  alike  over  mas- 
sive trunk  uid  slender  limb.  By  the  limpid 
rivulets  stretched  verdant  prairies,  on  whose 
borders  the  orange,  shaddock,  and  lime  cast 
their  ungathered  fruit,  and  the  wild  turkeys 
strutte  .  and  fed  beneath  the  nut-laden  hazels 
and  chincapins. 

"  On  the  broad  marshes,  lined  with  thick 
sedges  and  graceful,  plume-tipped  reeds,  and 
among  the  mangrove  flats  and  weed-choked 
shallows,  we  found  an  ample  supply  of  food, 
among  an  innumerable  multitude  o"f  other 
migrating  birds.  To  enumerate  even  the 
names  of  the  various  species  would  weary 
your  patience,  and  be  beyond  the  scope  of  my 
recollection  ;  but  that  scene  is  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. Vast  flights  of  sea-fowl,  that  almost 
darkened  the  air,  and  covered  the  broad  waters 
of  the  shallow  lagoons,  on  whose  borders 
stalked  huge  cranes,  and  herons,  and  bittern 
of  many   species,    attended  by   hosts    of  ibis, 


250 


ADVENTCJREP    OF    A    WILD    GOOSE. 


li 


curlew,  gallinulos,  and  other  wadin;;  birds 
of  gorgeous  and  striking  plumage,  among 
whom,  liere  and  tlien',  a|)p(.'ared  tlie  tall  form 
and  vivid  crimson  feathers  ol   tlie  flamingo. 

"Mvriads  of  sand-pipers  and  of  plover 
gleaned  the  animalcula  of  the  marsh  oozi 
hosts  of  ducks  and  tinv  teal  whirred  up  from 
the  thick  sedges,  and  the  sea-gulls  and  small 
tern  gathered  from  Mieir  summer  haunts,  by 
the  fro/en  sias,  to  the  wilderness  siiores  of 
this  winterless  land,  and  man/  an  ocean 
rover,  the  i.liarp-billed  gannct,  the  tireless 
frigate-bird,  the  fierce  cormorant,  and  the  ra- 
pacious shag,  came  from  their 'ocean-cruising, 
to  resta  while  among  the  inundated  jungles 
of  the  Kverglades. 

"  Yet  life  here  was  not  without  its  dangers. 
Above  us  circled,  in  his  lofty  e--  the  huge 
gray  eagle,  ever  ready  to  strike  ..  ..iick  among 
the  sheltering  sedges,  or  bear  the  vainly-bleat- 
ing fawr  from  the  si'  f  its  dam  ;  and  weak- 
er, but  no  less  to  be  feared,  swooped  from  his 
lower  eyrie  hia  bol  '  .  ongener,  and  the  less 
feared  fishing-cagle ;  while  l<;iwl-s  of  n.arv 
kinds  and  varying  powers  of  otVence  gathered 
around  the  winged  host,  whose  weaker  mem- 
bers afforded  many  victims  to  their  watchful 
enemies. 

'•  Still  our  life  here  w.is  peaceful,  on  the 
whole,  an  1  our  little  llock  of  eight  lost  but 
one  member  during  the  entire  winter.  We 
were  gathered  one  day  in  a  shallow  of  the 
Shark's  Head  River,  into  which  had  fallen  a.i 
ample  siipplv  of  acorns  from  the  oaks  on  the 
bank  above.  A  bank  of  sedges  shut  us  out 
from  the  river  view,  and  the  islet  was  small, 
"nd  apparently  unten/'.nted.  We  were  feeditig, 
merrilv  conversing,  as  is  our  wont,  when  sud- 
denly a  dead  silence  fell  on  all  fiir  com;  Tn\. 
'I'lrning  cpiickly  to  learn  the  cause,  1  aw 
above  me,  among  the  many-colored  foliage,  a 
terrific  sight.  A  tall  savage,  clad  in  skins 
worked  with  tiiany-hued  heals,  with  his  face 
painted  in  vivid  patterns,  and  surmounted  by 
a  crest  of  waving  feathers,  crouched  amid  the 
leaves,  levelling  a  heavy  liile.  I^ven  as  my 
grandsire  shook  his  pinions  in  tlight,  a  putf 
of  smoke,  and  a  jet  of  fire  shot  from  the  fatal 
ambush,  and  the  paruier  of  his  many  wander- 
ings fell,  pierced  by  the  deadly  bullet,  and  we 
saw,  as  we  circled  once  above  the  fatal  spot, 
the  lif'.;less  body  seized  by  a  gaunt  hound,  and 
borne  into  the  treacherous  ambush ^ 

'  At  last  the  spring  c?me;  and  early  in 
March  we  set  out  on  our  northward  journey. 
Many  changes  had  taken  place  in  our  flock, 
which  was  still  under  the  direction  of  my 
widowed  grandsire.  but  which  had  increased 


in  number  to  twelve,  owing  to  the  mathig  of 
many  o*"  our  number,  —  myself  among  the 
rest.  The  passion  of  love  seemed  to  pervade 
all  things  at  that  season;  the  deer  mated  be- 
side the  rivulets,  the  turkeys  called  to  each 
other  in  ihe  forests,  the  thickets  were  vocal 
with  the  love-songs  of  the  mocking-bird  and 
the  soft  cooing  of  the  ground-doves.  !:;ven 
the  ha'-sh  gabble  of  the  feathered  tribes  of 
ocean  gave  way  to  a  s;)ft,  incessant  murmur, 
inexpressibly  mournful  and  weird  to  the  voy- 
aging mariner,  but  speaking  to  us  of  a  wealth 
of  life  and  of  love.  .Slowly  we  passed  on 
northward,  meeting  ever  with  cold,  sleety 
gales  from  the  north  and  east,  and  constantly 
exposed  to  a  thousand  perils  from  the  deadly 
marksmen,  who  watched  for  us  on  every  mile 
of  the  long,  low  coast-line. 

"  It  was  on  the  Chesapeake  that  misfortune 
first  befell  one  of  oiw  number.  My  eldest  sur- 
viving brother  separated  from  us  on  the  way 
.lorthward,  to  attach  himself  to  anothe"  flock, 
led  by  a  young  and  inexperienced  bird.  Late 
in  the  night,  both  flocks  alighted  on  some 
broad  shailows,  amid  the  thick  sea-weed,  be- 
ginning at  dawn  to  feed  amid  the  surround- 
ing herbage.  Tlie  quick  eye  of  my  grandsire 
soon  perceived  a  skiff,  disguised  with  reeds, 
approaching,  and  while  the  danger  was  still 
distant,  advised  us  to  take  to  flight 

"  The  leader  of  the  other  flock  derided  the 
idea.  '  You  have  L;rown  cov.ardly  in  your  old 
age,  old  Gray-wing,*  said  he.  '  I  know  to  a 
yard  the  reach  of  their  shot,  an.l  I  shan't  stir 
until  he  has  paddled  up  to  Uiat  point.  By 
that  time  we  shall  I'ave  had  breakfast,  and 
shall  fly  ort",  leaving  him  to  row  back  without 
a  feather.' 

"  '  I  am  afraid,  it  is  true,'  answered  my  rel- 
ative; 'but  I  have  been  thirty  years  on  the 
coasi,  and  have  heard  of  guns  which  can  kill 
easily  from  the  distance  which  you  call  safe. 
I  shall  work  down  the  bay,  and  we  must  feed 
as  we  go.     You  had  better  follow.' 

'•  '  I  have  heard  of  and  seen  those  "  stanchion 
guns,"  as  they  call  them  ;  but  that  "  float  "  is  too 
small  for  anything  but  a  light  fowling-piece, 
or  an  o!d  musket  loaded  with  buck-shot;  so 
trust  to  me,  and  we  shall  go  northward,  with 
a  good  laugh  at  yonder  skulking  gunner,  and 
a  better  meal  than  our  over-i.  ireful  friends.' 

"  As  we  swam  steadily  away,  feeding  a  little 
here  and  there,  but  keeping  the  original  dis- 
tance between  us  and  the  roat  undiminish.:d, 
I  cast  many  anxious  glances  upon  u.  -  thought- 
less friends,  who  continued  to '.eed,  i.'  perfect 
security,  until  the  boat  had  almost  reac  led  the 
prescribed  limit,  full  two  hundred  yards  away. 


laea 


• 

>  the  matlTig  of 

If    aniotifj    the 

ned  to  pervade 

deer  mated  bu- 

lallcd  to  each 

ids  were  vocal 

" 

cking-bird  and 

1-doves.     Lvcn                         ' 

ered    tribes   of 

ssant  niunmir. 

eird  to  the  voy- 

iis  of  a  wealth 

we   passed   on 

th    cold,    sleety 

and  constantly 

roni  the  deadlv 

s  on  every  mile                         ' 

ADVENTURES    OF    A    WILD    GOOSE. 


«s« 


that  misfortune 
My  eldest  sur- 
us  on  the  way 

0  anothe"  (lock, 
;ed  bird.  Late 
[jilted  on  some 
;k  sea-weed,  be- 
d  the  surround- 
)f  my  grandsire 
sed  with  reeds, 
lander  was  still 
i^ht 

lock  derided  the 
rdly  in  your  old 
'  I  know  to  a 
m.i  I  shan't  stir 
nat  point.  By 
breakfast,  und 
iw  back  without 

riswered  my  rel- 
ty  years  on  the 
s  which  can  kill 
h  you  call  safe, 
id  we  must  feed 
ow.' 

lose  "  stanchion 
at  "  float  "  is  too 
it  fowling-piece, 

1  buck-shot;  so 
lorthward,  with 
ng  gunner,  and 
reful  friends.' 

,  feeding  u  little 
the  original  d'.-.- 
t  undiminish.:d, 
ion  o.  -  thought- 
>  '.eed,  I.'  perfect 
nost  reac  led  the 
ired  yards  away. 


I  saw  the  young  leader  of  the  tlock  i-aise  his 
head  quickly,  and  give  a  warning  cry,  full  of 
horrified  dismay,  as  he  gave  the  signal  for 
flight.  I  saw  their  swift  pinions  beating  the 
water  into  foam,  in  desperate  tlight,  and  then 
the  slight  disguise  of  withered  grass  was  blown 
from  the  bows  of  fli:  tiny  boat  by  the  heavy 
charge  of  siiot  belched  forth  by  her  tremen- 
dous swivel.  Scarcely  a  bird  escaped  ;  and  as 
we,  too,  took  flight  in  fear  and  sorrow,  we  laid 
to  heart  the  new  lesson  we  hnd  received  of 
the  many  wiles  and  tremendous  destructive 
power  of  our  great  enemy,  man. 

"'I  have  faced  the  javelin  of  the  I'^squimaux, 
the  arrow  of  the  Indian,  the  far-reaching  bul- 
let and  thick-flying  shot  of  the  white  hunter, 
and  have  escaped  a  thousand  wiles  and  snares  ; 
but  I  know  tiie  d.iy  will  come  when  even  my 
sagacity  will  fail,  and  I  shall  fall  before  the  en- 
emies of  my  race.' 

"Thus  spoke  my  grandsire  as  I  flew  by  his 
side,  two  nights  later,  beneath  a  brilliant  moon, 
along  the  southern  ..'.lore  of  Cape  Cod.  He 
s|)oke  sadly,  almost  despairingly  ;  but  Idreamed 
not  how  soon  his  forebodings  of  disaster  were 
to  be  verified.  A  few  hours  later,  in  the  early 
dawn,  we  entered  a  wide  haven,  whose  narrow 
channels  flowed  amid  broad  expanses  of  shal- 
low water,  densely  covered  with  our  favorite 
food. 

"  After  feeding  some  hours,  we  saw  at  a  little 
distance  a  sandy  bar,  on  which  the  rising  tide 
gradually  encroached.  On  its  highest  point 
rose  a  square  rock  hung  with  weeds,  and  a 
number  of  birds  of  our  own  kind  swam  and 
fed  in  the  adjacent  shallows,  and  answered 
our  calls,  evidently  wishing  us  to  join  them. 
The  place  seemed  suitable  to  dry  our  feathers, 
and  procure  a  little  gravel  and  clean  sand ;  and 
we  were  soon  in  their  midst,  feeding,  chasing 
each  other,  and  pluming  our  displaced  feath- 
ers on  the  dry  bar.  As  the  tide  can.e  in,  we 
retreated  higher,  until  we  were  scarcely  thirty 
yards  from  the  rock.  Then  the  fatal  ambus- 
cade was  disclosed,  the  decoy  birds  were  pulled, 
screaming  and  flapping,  from  among  us,  by 
means  of  concealed  cords  ;  and,  as  heavy  and 
repeated  volleys  thundered  in  my  ears,  I  felt  a 
sudden  shock,  sharp  pains,  and  I  became  sense- 
less. 

"  When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  in  the  hands 
of  a  man  who.  with,  two  others,  sat  in  the 
cunningly-constructed  '  blind,'  so  fatal  to  my 
doomed  companions. 

"  '  Thev  are  all  dead  except  this  one ;  and  he 
has  both  wings  broken,'  said  he.  '  Shall  we 
save  him  for  a  decoy  ? ' 

"  All  agreed  to  this;  and  the  shattered  tips 


of  my  wings  being  amputated,  I  was  tralne<l, 
and  finally  sert  as  a  gift  to  my  present  niaster. 
I  have  since  lured  many  to  destruction;  for 
my  longing  for  love  a  id  companionship,  and 
the  unforgotlen  glories  of  the  Arctic  Se  i,  come 
upon  me  with  each  returning  spring,  as  I 
see  my  happier  kindred  swcping  northward 
through  the  free  path  of  heaven,  and  1  cannot 
resist  the  desire  of  meeting  them  once  more, 
though  I  know  I  call  them  beneath  the  Jeailly 
shower  of  mitraille  that  has  spared  me  thus 
far;  although  I  know  that,  like  my  race,  i,  too, 
shall  fall  by  the  hand  of  man." 

The  narrator  ceased  as  the  clock  struck  mid- 
night, and  our  hapi>v  party  was  over.  A  lew 
years  later,  I  met  Major  Orlebar  in  St.  John, 
N.  B.,  and  asked  him  if  he  still  possessed  his 
wingless  Brentgoose.  He  answered,  with  a 
slight  tinge  of  real  sadness  in  his  tone,  — 

'•  I'oor  .Senunk  was  a  sad  loss  to  me,  for  I 
had  watched  him  so  much  in  our  May  d.ays  to- 
gether, on  the  ice-foes,  that  lie  became  very 
tame,  confiding,  and  useful.  I  left  him  one 
day  for  a  few  moments,  and  on  my  return 
heard  a  gun  fired  near  my  boat.  A  dandy  of- 
ficer of  the  garrison,  who  was  remarkable  for 
his  ridiculous  sporting  misadventures,  had 
capped  the  climax  of  his  stupidity  by  fhooting 
my  decoy-biicl,   thus  ending  the  strange  Ad- 

VENTLRliS    OF    .\    WiLU    GoOSK." 


7^  ^.^^ 


I  f 


2^2 


UKMINISCEXCES    OF    WFST    AFRICAN    r.IFK. 


SONNINKEK    CofKT    <)l'    JlSTllK.        l';ll,'C    2^5. 


REMINISOENOES    OF    WEST     AFRIOAN 
LIFE. 

BY    EDWARD    Dl'SSEAULT,   JR. 


A     SONNINKEE     COURT    OF 
JUSTICE. 

FROM  tiK'  early  part  of  1864  to  the  latter 
part  of  187,3,  I  resided  in  Western  Africa. 
I  became  familiar  with  the  Mandingo  lan- 
guage, and  understood  Jollof  and  Serra-Ouli 
well  enough  to  suit  my  purpose  as  a  trader. 
Most  of  my  time  was  passed  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  seaboard,  and  some  two 
hundred  miles  from  the  nearest  white  man.  I 
was  often  obliged  to  conform  to  the  habits 
and  customs  of  the  blacks;  ate  and  drank  with 
them,  slept  beneath  the  same  roof,  and  joined 
them  in  their  pastimes  and  excursi'^'.is.  I  had 
to  be  careful  not  to  sho^-k  their  religious  feel- 
ings, and,  above  all,  never  to  mention  the 
name  of  Mohammed  save  with  profound  re- 
spect; and  I  have  often  overheard  a  stalwart 
.Vfrican  express  the  wish  that  the  Christian 
dog.  vvhom  their  chief  was  entertaining,  were 
not  a  guest,  and,  as  such,  entitled  to  their  pro- 
tection, and  some  consideration.  All  seemed 
to  vie  with  each  other,  at  certain  times,  in 
their  endeavors  to' exasperate  me  by  insults, 


expecting  to  succeed  in  making  me  lose  my 
temper  and  strike  them;  and  it  often  took  the 
utmost  self-possession,  on  my  part,  not  to 
retaliate  upon  them. 

I  resided  principally  in  that  section  of  the 
country  watered  by  the  Gambia  and  Seni'gal, 
am  well  acquainted  with  the  former  from  its 
mouth  upwards,  and  am  just  as  much  at  home 
floating  on  the  surface  of  its  limpid  waters,  as 
I  should  be  if  it  had  been  my  birthplace. 

I  do  not  purpose  now  to  give  a  minute  de- 
scription of  either  of  these  streams,  though  I 
may  hereafter  be  tempted  to  do  so.  But  I 
merely  wish  to  refer  to  a  few  of  my  own  remi- 
niscences, .ind  to  illustrate,  by  an  incident  in 
which  I  w;is  one  of  the  principal  actors,  the 
prodigious  tnemory  which  is  sometimes  dis- 
played by  the  better  class  of  Africans.  Mere, 
let  me  say,  at  once,  that  I  am  by  no  means  a 
follower  of  Dr.  Hunt,  formerly,  if  not  now, 
president  of  the  Anthropological  Society  of 
London,  who  gained  an  unenviable  notoriety 
by  publishing  his  address,  before  that  society, 
on  "  T/ie  Neffro'f  Place  in  Nature,"  wherein 
he  declares  him  to  be  an  anthropoid  ape.  For 
I  believe  the  negroes,  even  the  tri:'*  negroes 
as  defined  by  him,  to  be  something  more  than 
apes,  and  that  they  are  endowed  with  some- 
thing more  than  mere  instinct.     True,   they 


king  me  lose  my 
I  it  often  took  the 
my  part,   not   to 

lat  section  of  the 
ibia  and  Senegal, 
e  former  from  its 
as  much  at  home 
limpid  waters,  as 

birthplace, 
give  a  minute  de- 
Jtreams,  though  I 
to  do  so.  But  I 
of  my  own  remi- 
by  an  incident  in 
ncipal  actors,  the 
s  sometimes  dis- 

Africans.  Here, 
,m  by  no  means  a 
lerly,  if  not  now, 
)gical  Society  of 
unviable  notoriety 
efore  that  society, 
Nature"  wherein 
iropoid  ape.  For 
the  trt:e  np;4roes 
lething  more  than 
dowed  with  sonie- 
inct.     True,  they 


REMINISCENCES    OF    WKST    AFRICAN     MFE, 


m 


but  rarely  exhibit  any  great  amount  of  intolli- 
gencc,  but  tliey  have  a  sort  of  low,  native 
cunning,  which  goes  fur  towards  making  them 
dillicult  to  trade  with;  and  lie  who  rarrioN  with 
him  an  exaggerated  Idea  ut'  tlieir  iiiferinrity, 
is  sure  to  get  the  worst  of  a  l)ari,'ain. 

In  the  region  of  the  Upper  (iamt)ia,  various 
classes  of  blacks  are  met  with.  Manding(J>, 
J'lllofs,  Acioiis,  .Serraoulis,  Foulahs,  Fonta- 
Fouluhs,  Tauraiikas,  Ouasoloonkr.'.,  Kiouinen, 
anil  many  others,  all  vie  here,  with  low  cun- 
ning, "grave  deceit  and  jialtry  ilieat,"  to  gain 
our  dollars.  Their  religions  and  customs  arc 
in  many  respects  ditl'eront,  and  in  some  cases 
entirely  so.  The  Mohammedan  religion,  how- 
ever, predominates,  and  its  devotees  are  here 
called  Murabouli—  a  name  given  to  none  but 
priests  by  the  Arabs,  but  indiscriminately  ap- 
plied here  to  all  Mohammedans.  The  pagans 
—  those  having  no  r-iigion,  unless  the  most 
superstitious  Fetish  praetii:es  can  be  called 
such  —  are  here  called  Soiiiiinkces.  They  are 
not  only  lovers  of  ardent  spirits,  but  generally 
drunkards.  Hence  the  word  Soiininkve  has 
got  to  luean  a  drinker  of  intoxicating  liiiuors. 
The  latter  are  the  rightful  owners  of  the  soil, 
but  the  Mohammedans  are  last  gaining  the 
supremacy  over  all  others;  and  they  will,  no 
doubt,  soon  subjugate  all  who  are  iiowopposeil 
to  their  rule  up  to  the  source  of  the  river. 

Having  been  the  best  supplied  trader  in  the 
Upper  Gambia,  I  became  iiitimati'ly  acquainted 
with  these  blacks,  and  had  ample  opportuni- 
ties to  study  their  character  and  customs.  My 
knowledge  of  the  Mandingo  language,  which 
is  almost  universally  understood  in  this  region, 
assisted  me  \ery  much  to  esta'uliNh  intimate 
relations  with  them  ;  and,  consequently,  1  have 
often  witnessed,  very  often  been  the  principal 
actor  in,  many  an  incident,  which,  if  properly 
relpted,  would  prove  interesting  to  the  gen- 
eral reader;  and  it  is  with  the  hope  of  suc- 
ceeding to  do  this  that  I  have  undertaken  to 
relate  some  of  my  Reminiscences  of  West  Af- 
rican Life. 

r.  November,  traders  proceed  up  this  river 
(the  Gambia),  land  goods  along  its  banks, 
and  there  remain  with  them,  during  the  dry 
season,  to  barter  thein  against  produce,  which 
consists  chiefly  of  groundnuts  (generally 
called  peanuts  in  the  United  States),  very 
few  of  which  are  shipped  here,  the  greater 
part  being  shipped  to  France  and  England, 
where  their  oil  is  expressed,  and  called  olive 
oil.  Nearly  all  the  salad  oil  used  in  this  coun- 
try is  groundnut  oil,  there  being  but  very 
little,  if  any,  olive  oil  used  for  salad  here,  or 
even  in  France. 


Now,  it  very  often  ha|)pens  that  a  dispute 
arises  between  rival  traders,  which  has  to  be 
settled  by  the  king,  or  one  or  more  of  his 
chiefs;  ;uul  it  is  well  worth  ime's  while  to  be 
presint,  during  a  livil  suit,  in  a  Honninkee 
court  of  justice.  I  her;ime  involved  in  one 
of  these  suits  in  iSf>;.  1  was  at  my  factory  at 
N'abu-Tenda.  in  the  kingilom  of  Ouli,  at  the 
head  of  navigation  lor  suiall  crafts.  The  trad- 
ing sciison  was  ilr;iwing  to  a  close,  it  being 
during  the  fust  ludf  of  .May,  which  is  the  last 
month  of  the  season.  I  had  causeil  to  be 
measured,  on  my  account,  atiuantity  of  ground- 
nuts (eleven  thousand  bushels),  had  paid  for 
them,  and  nothing  remained  but  to  transport 
them  to  inv  stores.  lUit,  before  I  iiad  com- 
menced transi>orting  them,  they  were  claimed 
by  another  trader,  who  said  that  the  holders 
h;ul  agreed  to  sell  them  to  him,  when  he  first 
came  uj<,  at  the  commencement  of  the  season, 
;uk1  that,  on  the  strength  of  this  agreement, 
he  had  matte  them  numy  valuable  ))reseuts. 
He  wished  me  to  give  up  the  nuts,  upon  his 
giving  me  the  same  amount  as  I  had  pi.id  for 
them,  in  the  same  kind  of  goods  that  I  had 
given.  I,  of  course,  refused;  and  he  referred 
the  matter  to  the  king  of  Ouli  (Juma  I.),  and 
the  laiter  appointed  a  ihiy  (the  Jist  of  .May, 
iSfi.s),  when  we  were  both  to  be  at  his  capital, 
Medina,  with  all  our  witnesses.  He  said  that 
he  would  then  summf)n  his  court,  and  that  he 
would  preside  and  decide  in  person  upon  the 
merits  of  the  case.  This  arrangement  was 
formally  agreed  to  both  by  the  plaintilT  and 
myself  on  the  i.:tli,  and  we  therefore  had 
nine  days  before  us,  he  to  decide  upon  his 
mode  of  attack,  and  I  upon  my  mode  of  ile- 
lence.  We  both  had  ample  time  for  this,  as 
neither  of  us  was  busy,  tlie  whole  crop  having 
been  bought  by  the  traders,  who  were  only 
waiting  for  vessels  to  ship  both  themselves 
a:ul  their  produce. 

The  preliminaries  of  these  trials  are  :dways 
ex])ensive,  as  both  plaintill"  and  defendant  vie 
with  each  other  in  making  presents  to  the 
king  and  his  head  men,  expecting  thus  to  gain 
the  sympathy  of  the  court.  'J'he  |)laintiir  dis- 
tributed his  presents  with  a  recklessly  lavish 
hand,  and  I  had  some  misgivings  as  to  the 
result  of  our  dispute.  One  circumstance,  how- 
ever, was  in  my  favor.  The  plaintilV  was  a 
strict  Mohammedan,  whereas  the  king  of  Ouli 
is  a  .Sonninkee.  They  were,  therefore,  ene- 
mies, and  a  small  present  from  me  would  go 
as  far  towards  influencing  the  king  as  a  com- 
paratively large  one  from  my  friend  the  jilain- 
tiff.  I  felt  certiiin  that,  so  long  as  the  plain- 
tilT did   not  overcome   his    scruples   and  give 


r  iTi 


254 


REMINISCENCES    OF    WEST    AFRICAN    LIFE. 


'  i 


f\ '  ii 


!■ 


the  king  rum, — as  he  had  done  on  another 
and  similar  occasion,  —  I  was  all  right,  and 
had  every  reason  to  relieve  tiii-t  T  would  receive 
impartial  justice  at  his  (the  king's)  hands. 
But  knowing  well,  to  m_v  cost,  '.he  elasticity 
of  a  Mohammedan's  conscience,  I  feared  that 
rum  would  be  used,  and  endeavors  made  to 
intoxicate  the  king,  and  to  keep  him  drunk. 
Jn  that  case  judgment  would  have  to  be  pro- 
nounc'-d,  and  justice  meted  out  b\'  the  head 
man  for  war  (Kalley  Oualley),  who  was  a  no- 
torious and  unprincipled  old  drunkard,  wliom 
the  plaintifl'  had  succeeded  in  making  his 
friend.  Having,  however,  finally  settled  in 
my  own  mind  wliat  to  do,  and  what  presents 
to  give,  I  decided  to  await  events.  I  therefore 
sent  them  (the  presents)  to  the  king  and  his 
head  men,  who  told  my  messenger  to  assure 
me  that  I  need  not  fear  the  result  of  the  trial, 
as  every  member  of  the  court  was  on  my  side, 
and  determined  tliat  I  should  retain  the  nuts 
in  (juestion.  I  had  no  doubt  that  the  same 
message  had  been  sent  to  the  phiintitV,  who, 
by  the  by,  was  calleii  Saiiiha  Eascr. 

^!edina,  the  capital,  where  the  king  held  his 
court,  is  a  good  ten  hours'  ride,  at  a  brisk 
walk,  from  the  nearest  point  f>f  the  river's 
bank,  which  is  Fatta-Tenda;  and  tliis  latter 
place  is  five  hours'  ride  from  Yabu-Tenda, 
where  I  was  stationed.  I  pass  over  this  little 
journey  (although  it  was  an  eventful  one  to 
me),  as  it  has  no  connection  with  the  subject 
of  this  paper;  and  I  tb.erefore  reserve  an  ac- 
count of  it  for  another  number.  I  must  add, 
liowever,  that  I  sulfered  some  indignities  at 
the  hands  of  some  Mohammedans,  — amongst 
whom  was  Samba  Kaser,  —  during  this  jour- 
ney to  Medina,  wliicli  enraged  the  king,  put 
him  altogether  in  my  favor,  and  resulted  in 
the  imprisonment  of  these  Mohammedans, 
together  with  Samba  Easer.  Daybreak,  the 
17th  May,  1S65,  found  me  within  tliree  miles 
of  the  capital,  winding  my  way  through  a 
thick  growth  of  stunted  trees,  and  we  passed 
a  human  hand  sticking  out  of  the  ground, 
and  appearing  as  though  a  human  arm  had 
been  planted  there.  It  was  the  lumd  of  a 
Greco/,  who  had  died  the  day  before,  and  been 
thus  buried  with  one  hand  sticking  out  of  his 
grave.  Greeots'  bodies,  in  most  other  places, 
are  put  into  the  hollow  of  a  large  baobab,  and 
they  are  allowed  no  other  kind  of  burial. 

A.  little  after  live  o'clock  A.  M.,  we  emerged 
from  the  forest  upon  the  finest  and  most  fertile 
]ilain  I  e\ei'  was  on  in  Africa.  Every  tree 
capable  of  sheltering  an  enemy  had  been  cut 
down;  and  it  formed  almost  a  circle  fully  two 
miles  in  diameter.    'In  its  centre  is  the  stronglv- 


stockaded  town  of  Medina,  the  capital  of  Ouli, 
I  pulled  up  my  horse  and  stopped  to  admire 
the  scene  before  us.  They  had  liad  rain  here 
the  day  before,  and,  consequently,  the  plain 
was  covered  wiili  people,  preparing  the  ground 
to  receive  the  seed  for  the  next  crop  of  corn, 
while  the  chiefs  were  riding  about,  urging 
them  to  work  faithfully;  and  I  looked  upon 
the  nearest  approach  to  civilized  life  which  I 
had  ever  seen  in  the  region  of  the  Upper 
(jambia.  We  presently  moved  slo./ly  fowartls 
the  stockade,  whilst  the  dogs  yelped,  and  the 
chile)  -en,  and  even  some  of  the  women  and 
slaves,  ran  away  at  sight  of  a  white  man.  We 
were  soon  accosted  by  one  of  the  king's  sons, 
—  a  boy  whom  I  had  frequently  met  before,  — 
who  told  me  that  the  king  was  anxious  about 
me.  lie  led  us  to  U'c  king's  residence  inside 
of  the  stockade,  and  motioned  us  to  a  seat  on 
the  bantang,  before  the  door  In  a  few  mo- 
ments the  king  arrived,  perfectly  sober,  and 
graciously  received  us,  with  a  very  patronizing 
air.  Then,  after  interchanging  a  few  com- 
monplace remarks,  he  told  me  to  ask  a  man, 
whom  he  pointed  out  to  me,  for  anything  that 
I  might  want,  and  then  retired,  saying  that  he 
would  see  me  again  during  the  day. 

I  had  another  interview  with  the  king  that 
dav,  and  dined  at  seven.  Being  weary,  I  soon 
retired  to  rest,  but  got  i-ery  little  sleep,  on  ac- 
count of  the  noise  kept  up  all  night  by  the 
.Sonninkees,  most  of  whom  were  drunk  and 
quarrelsome.  The  stench  of  alcohol  was  al- 
most intolerable  ;  and  I  was  glad,  when  morn- 
ing came,  to  go  outside  of  the  stockade,  to 
roam  among  the  farmt,.  The  men  and  v.ou-.en 
working  upon  them  soon  familiarized  theni- 
selves  with  the  appearance  of  the  white 
stranger,  a'ld  plied  me  with  questions,  while 
the  children  followed  me  about,  stored  at  me 
with  wonder,  and  remarked  to  each  other 
that  my  skin  looked  like  pork.  The  rest 
of  the  time,  up  to  the  trial,  was  passed  in 
this  way,  and  in  shooting  in  the  vicinitv; 
and  I  fattentJ  on  venison  and  other  choice 
game. 

The  morning  of  the  2nth,  Salum  Jarta  ar- 
rived, with  the  other  members  of  the  court; 
antl  at  about  nine  o'clock  i'.  M.  .Samba  Kaser, 
the  plaintiir  in  my  pahwer,  was  marchetl  in 
as  a  prisoner,  Iiis  elbows  bound  together  be- 
hind his  back,  and  guarded  by  Sonninkees, 
with  drawn  cutlasses,  with  which  they  occa- 
sionally pricked  him,  to  hurry  him  along,  lie 
was  mocked  and  jeered  at  by  every  native 
present;  and  one  could  not  help  pitying  him 
who,  yester<iay,  was  the  most  inlluential  .Serra- 
ouli  in  Ouli,  as  he  stood  there,  securely  bound, 


Jii 


he  capital  of  Oiili. 
stopped  to  admire 

had  had  rain  here 
liientlj,  the  plain 
;parins^  tlie  j^r^iind 
next  crop  of  corn, 
ng  about,  urging 
nd  I  looked  upon 
vilized  life  which  I 
ion  of  the  Upper 
ved  slo./lv  towards 
)gs  yelped,  and  the 
of  the  women   and 

a  white  man.  We 
of  the  king's  sons, 
.-ntly  met  before,  — 

was  anxious  about 
g's  residence  inside 
)n'"d  us  to  a  seat  on 
Dor  In  a  few  mo- 
lerfectly  sober,  and 
1  a  very  patronizing 
nging  a  few  com- 
d  me  to  ask  a  man, 
.■,  for  anything  that 
ired,  saying  that  he 

the  day. 

r  with  the  king  that 
3eing  weary,  I  soon 
y  little  sleep,  on  ac- 
up  all  night  by  the 
m  were    drunk  and 

of  alcohol  was  al- 
.s  glad,  when  morn- 
of  the  stockade,  to 
'he  men  and  v.un-.en 

familiarized  them- 
incc  of  the  wliite 
ith  question-*,  while 

about,  st-ired  at  me 
rkcd  to  each  other 
vc  pork.  The  rest 
rial,  was  passed  in 
ig  in  the  vicinity; 
n  and  other    choice 

ith,  Salum  Jarta  ar- 
mbcrs  of  tlie  court ; 
P;  M.  Samba  Easer, 
'.■r,  was  marched  in 
<  bound  together  he- 
rded bv  Sonniukces, 
til  which  they  occa- 
urry  him  along,  lie 
at  by  every  native 
not  help  pitying  him 
lost  intluential  Serra- 
iiere,  securely  bound. 


REMINISCENCES    OF    WEST    AFRICAN    LIFE. 


255 


the  jeer  and  laughing-stock  of  the  slaves,  who 
grinned  and  stared  at  him. 

The  night  was  passed  pleasantly  on  the 
bantang.  Salum  Jarta  had  succeeded  in  per- 
suading the  king  to  keep  rum  out  of  the  court 
until  after  the  palavers  to  come  before  him 
should  be  settled.  Every  one,  therefore,  was 
sober.  The  principal  men  of  Ouli  were  here, 
appearing  at  their  best,  and  Salum  entertained 
us  with  amusing  stories,  told  as  he  alone 
in  all  Ouli  could  tell  them,  and  some  of  which 
I  would  try  to  repeat  here,  if  I  but  had  the 
space.  No  one,  who  could  have  l.eard  this 
great  master  of  the  Mandingo  language  on 
that  occasion,  could,  fora  single  instant,  doubt 
the  humanity  of  the  negro,  or  evci  after  rank 
him  as  an  anthropoid  ape.  At  length  we 
gradually  stretched  ourselves,  one  by  one,  on 
the  bantang,  and  were  soon  all  asleep.  The 
night  was  cool,  there  were  no  mosquitos 
(they  are  rare  away  from  the  banks  of  the 
river),  and  all  noise  had  been  prohibited  with- 
in a  certain  distance  of  the  king's  residence. 

The  next  morning,  at  about  five  o'clock,  I 
was  summoned  to  the  court:  and  I  soon  per- 
ceived that  the  day  was  to  be  observed  us  a 
holy  day  in  the  Sonninkee  capital.  The  Son- 
ninkees  were  all  clad  in  their  war  costumes, 
covered  with  gregrees,  and  armed  from  head 
to  foot.  It  was  a  beautiful  day,  not  verv 
warm,  and  the  morning  air  ^as  rcfresliing.  I 
at  once  proceeded  to  the  large  tree,  half  a  mile 
outside  of  the  stockade,  where  the  court  had 
already  assembled,  and  a  seat  was  assigned 
me  near  Salum  Jarta.  The  king  sat  in  the 
centre  of  the  group  on  a  leopard's  skin,  and 
was  dressed  in  white;  while  the  chiefs  were  in 
•heir  full  war  costumes,  and  all  armed  with 
musket  and  cutlass.  An  aiined  crowd  of  up- 
wards of  two  thousand  Sonninkees  sat  on  the 
ground,  at  a  distance  of  not  more  than  ten 
paces,  in  front  of  the  court.  Samba  Ea-scr's 
witnesses  were  all  railed,  and  then  mine;  and 
all  having  answered  to  their  names,  the  plain- 
tiff was  told  to  make  a  statement  of  his  case. 
He  had  been  temporarily  released  from  his 
bonds,  and,  for  the  time,  allowed  full  liberty 
of  speech.  As  he  proceeded,  a  Sonninkee  re- 
peated his  words  in  a  loud  voice,  that  all  the 
court  might  hear  and  understand.  His  wit- 
nesses were  then  examined,  anil  their  evidence 
repeated  in  the  same  manner  as  his  statement 
had  been,  word  for  word.  When  his  witnesses 
had  all  been  tlius  examined,  I  was  called  upon 
to.  make  my  statement,  and  I  made  it  to  the 
Sonninkee,  who  repeated  it.  as  he  had  done 
Samba  Eascr's.  Then  mv  witnesses  were  ex- 
amined  in   the   same  way,  getting  through  by 


eight  o'clock.  By  this  time  I  bog..n  to  be  dis- 
gusted with  the  proceedings;  for  neithe- the 
king  nor  the  chiefs  seemed  to  pay  any  atten- 
tion at  ail  to  the  trial,  and  they  all  looked  as 
though  they  would  like  to  go  to  siecp.  I  felt 
certain  that  none  of  ihem  knew  a  word  of 
what  had  been  said. 

At  length,  after  an  uninterrupted  silence, 
Kalley  Oualley  straightened  up  and  began  to 
address  the  court:  and,  as  he  proceeded,  I 
could  not  help  lookiiig  at  him  with  astonish- 
ment. This  man,  who  had  appeared  drowsy, 
perfectly  indifferent,  half  asleep,  and  stupid, 
now  appeared  a  totally  different  being.  He, 
the  dirtiest,  filthiest  okl  drunkard  in  Ouli, 
now,  for  a  wontler,  sober,  repeated  the  whole 
testimony  on  both  sides  almost  word  for  ^\ord, 
made  judicious  remarks  upon  the  character  of 
the  different  witnesses  who  had  been  examined, 
and  wound  up  in  an  eloquent  appeal  to  the 
king  not  to  allow  the  whites  to  have  it  .-.11 
their  own  w.iy,  but  to  teach  them,  by  a  fitting 
example,  that  their  black  brethren  were  men, 
as  well  as  they ;  and  that  they  would  not  be 
allowed  to  impose  upon  his  subjects  on  his 
soil,  and  in  their  country.  He  %\as  listened 
to  with  the  gieatest  attention  and  admira- 
tion. His  gestures  were  graceful,  and  his 
language  well  chosen,  and,  time  and  circum- 
stances taken  into  consideration,  polished  and 
elegant.  The  thought  that  this  eloqi'cnt  sav- 
age was  the  filthiest  old  drunkard  I  h.id  ever 
seen  anywhere,  was  almost  a  painful  one.  All 
the  chiefs  surprised  me,  in  their  turn,  by  their 
remarkable  and  truly  astonishing  memory; 
but  none  exliibitcd  anything  more  than  mere 
memory,  s.-.ve  Kalley  Oualley,  until  Salum 
Jarta's  turn  came.  He  always  spoke  last  at  all 
palavers,  and  never  but  once.  Like  the  others, 
he  summed  up  the  evidence  on  both  sides ;  he, 
furthermore,  analyzed  every  sen  I  ce  having 
any  hearing  on  the  case,  and  gave  liis  reasons 
clearly  why  he  accepted  or  rejected  this  or 
that  witness's  evidence.  He  wound  up  with 
an  appeal  to  the  king  to  protect  the  interests 
of  his  kingdom,  and  endeavored  to  sliow  that 
the  best  way  for  him  to  do  so  was  to  protect 
the  white  trader.  In  conclusion,  he  asked  that 
I  be  permitted  to  keep  the  produce  in  ques- 
tion, and  that  t!ie  plaintiff  be  compelied  to 
pay  for  its  t?-ansportation  to  the  place  of  ship- 
ment to  Batliurst. 

During  all  this  time  the  king  had  sat,  reclin- 
ing against  the  tree,  apparently  asleep ;  but, 
as  soon  as  Salum  had  finished,  he  aroused 
himself  and  began  at  once  to  sum  up,  not 
the  evidence,  but  the  remarks  of  his  chiefs, 
passing  in   review   their  respective   opinions. 


:; 


J 


25^5 


REMINISCENCES    OF    WEST    AFRICAN     LIFE. 


He  dwelt  particularly  upon  the  remarks  of 
Kalley  Ouallev  and  Salum  Jarta,  au'l  especial- 
ly those  of  the  latter,  ile  tlien  ijave  his  judf{- 
meiit,  which  was,  tliat  1,  the  defendant,  he 
allowed  to  keep  the  produce  in  cjuestion,  and 
which  I  had  houijht  and  paid  for;  and  that  the 
plaintiti"  he  compelled  to  pav  nie  suitahle  dani- 
aijes  for  the  time  I  had  lost  in  jirepariny  for 
and  attending  this  trial,  said  dania;;es  to  be  de- 
termined by  three  arbitrators,  whom  he  named. 
Me  explained  that  there  could  not  possibly 
be  any  case  against  me,  although  there  might 
have  been  one  against  tiiose  who  sold  me  the 
nuts.  It  appeared  evident,  and  it  had  been 
proved   to   his   satisfaction,  that  the   piaintilV 


had  endeavored  to  take  advantage  of  his  (the 
king's)  stranger,  forgetting  that  he  himself, 
though  black,  was  also  a  stranger,  being  a 
Serra-ouli.  For  thin  he  must  pay  a  fine  often 
slaves,  or  their  equivalent.  He  then,  imme- 
diately, sent  one  of  his  sons  to  seize  the  goods 
of  the  plaintilV,  with  instructions  not  to  re- 
turn anything  to  any  one  before  he  was  sat's- 
fied  that  all  the  claims  arising  out  of  this  trial 
had  been  fully  settled. 

Thus  ended  my  trial  at  this  court  on  this 
occasion;  and  six  days  after  this,  I  was  back 
at  Yaba-Tenda,  shipping  away  my  goods  and 
produce  to  Bath  arst. 


^^5*%- -•*''"-    — 


/vv 


-V 


'^ 


a  of  his  (the 

he   himself, 

L-r,  being  u 

a  fine  often 

tlien,  iinme- 

zo  the  goods 

not   to   re- 

hc  was  sat's- 

;  of  this  trial 

curt  on  tills 
■i,  I  was  back 
IV  goods  and 


iUE' 


A^ 


ASHES    OF    ROSES. 


257 


1 


0^*000  Parson  Meek,  in  name  and  nature 
'        kin, 
The  friend  of  virtue  and  the  foe  of  sin. 
In  thoughtful  mood,  by  the  mellowing  light 
Of  a  cosy  fire,  one  Saturday  night. 
On  an  oft-turned  text  a  sermon  wrought. 
Rich  in  expression  and  sound  in  thought. 
Spreading  it  forth  in  the  steady  glow 
That  warmed  his  brain  and  made  easy  flow 
Of  crowded  ideas  there,  ripe  to  season 
His  chosen  theme,  with  discursive  reason, 
Appeared  on  the  ruddy-tinted  heat. 
As  if  traced  with  the  pen  on  a  spotless  sheet. 
At  the  love  of  riches,  the  pomp  of  show. 
The  parson  led  off  with  a  weighty  blow; 
At  senseless  fashion  and  fickle  pleasure 
He  pommelled  aw.iy  in  unstinted  measure. 
On  speculation  and  ten  per  cents. 
On  corners  in  gold  and  usurious  rents, 
On  trickish  traffic  and  knavish  zeal. 
Indignantly  wrathful,  he  set  his  heel, 
Declaring  gold  the  seal  of  the  devil. 
And  the  love  of  riches  the  root  of  evil. 
Thus  preached  the  parson  in  wrath  and  ire 
That  Saturday  night  to  his  cheerful  fire. 

Now,  Parson  Meek  was  by  no  means  poor 

In  purse  or  person  ;  his  study  floor 

With   "Brussels"  was    spread,  and   rich  and 

rare 
Were  the  books  and  pictures  gathered  there. 
His  house  was  a  model  of  elegant  rest; 
His  table  was  spread  with  the  choicest  and 

best; 
His  church,  was  the  grandest  money  could  rear, 
His  salary  over  ten  thousand  a  year; 
His  parish  was  wealthy,  and  weekly  flocked 
In  the  gayest  fashions,  at  which  he  mocked. 
For  pomp  and  vanity,  riches  and  pride, 
Far  reach,  far  search,  on  every  side, 
Ne'er  could  be  found  so  fruitful  a  source 
For  subject  to  furnish  a  rich  discourse 
Than  the  congregation  of  once  a  week 
In  the  frescoed  church  of  Parson  Meek. 


Yet  the  parson  faltered,  and  felt  a  shock, 
When  he  turned  his  thoughts  towards  his  flock, 
And  the  full  effects  of  his  fierce  onslaught 
Full  and  clear  to  his  mind  ivere  brought; 
For  Brother  Blank  .ind  Deacon  Dash 
In  copper  stocks  had  mined  their  cash. 
And  Mrs.  Zero  and  sister  Nought 
To  lead  the  fashions  long  had  fought; 
And  'twas  far  from  wise  to  strike  a  blow 
That  might  "boomerang"  his  overthrow. 
Perhaps  he  thought  of  generous  hearts. 
Hidden  away  under  worldly  arts. 
That  wrought  much  good  his  parish  round. 
Where  the  suflfering  poor  were  often  found  — 
That  flung  deep  purses  at  w.Tnt's  demands, 
Into  misery's  lap  with  lavish  hands. 
Perhaps  his  logic  found  method  whereby 
His  church  might  pass  through  the  needle's 

eye. 
With  riches  and  worth,  and  goodness  and  pride 
Qi^iite  evenly  balanced  on  either  side. 
Whatever  the  thought,  the  current  turned; 
No  longer  indignant  his  spirit  burned, 
As  he  sought  .1  text  with  a  milder  ring, 
Home  to  his  people  some  lesson  to  bring. 
His  zeal  'gainst  riches  had  cooler  grown, 
And  that  sermon  was  preached  to  the  fire  alone 

Now,  on  this  nelf-same  Saturday  night, 

Fire  arose  in  his  crafty  might, 

The  slave  of  man  threw  off  his  yoke. 

From  fettering  chains  defiant  broke. 

And  stealthily  seizing  the  sceptre  of  power. 

The  tyrant  master  ruled  the  hour. 

With  a  sneer  at  the  parson's  faltering  heart. 

Reckless  assuming  the  preacher's  art, 

He  wrought  a  sermon  so  strong  and  clear. 

That  a  crowded  city  quaked  with  fe.ir, 

And  they  whom  fortune  favoied  most 

Awoke  from  their  dreams  to  see  its  ghost 

Vanish  in  flame.     Rich  spoils  of  trade. 

In  many  a  stron^'-walled  fortress  laid ; 

Vast  stores  from  far-off  Eastern  lands ; 

Wealthy  productions  of  gifted  hands; 


-Afcl-iHa 


2,V^ 


Asiii:s    or    ROSES. 


i   ^3 

h  i 


i;  X 


Cimiiiii'4  iiuuliincs.  In-  cr  iflsnien  narcil, 
In  lii-  ,nii.i.\l_v  jaw^  iiuiik  tiiMi|i|H';u  I'd. 


Wlidiii  friendly  cnliiistl  lu-hl  n!(...i 

l-'nini  llic  cnibhitig  liln\\>  of  his  ftliiii^  r«Kif. 

And  .mand  olil  cliurihcs.  nicT'sivc  and  gray, 

TIk'  t;ospcrs  sentries  alona;  llii."  way. 

Reared  in  love  and  baptized  in  prayer. 

M'il!'  passports  of  faitli  to  a  land  more  fair, 

Our  blessed  s^'mbols  of  trust  in  God. 

Cowered  beneatb  tlie  fiery  rod  : 

Antl  merchant  palaces  far  and  wide. 

Towerinfj  in  beauty,  the  city's  pride. 

Prosperity's  roses  in  };[ardens  of  trade, 

liy  his  blastinji;  breath  in  aslie--  werj  laid. 

Then,  glutted  with  spoils,  in  sudden  wrath 

He  sped  awav  on  his  fiery  path. 

And  da'-hed  with  a  roar  into  labor's  nest, 

Where,  home  returned  for  Sunilay  rest, 

Tlie  wearied  toiler  nobly  strove 

To  kee)!  '-nunt  want  from  his  lioine  of  love; 

Merciless  crawled  on  the  rottini?  floor. 

And  snatched  the  crust  from  the  starving  poor ; 

With  fiery  fingers  beckoned  on 

The  aged  man  from  his  homotead  torn. 

M'ho  sought  to  return,  and  n>eet  his  death 

In  the  house  whe.  ^  first  he  lirew  his  breath. 

Whom  friendly  counsel  held  aloof 

From  the  crushing  blows  of  his  falling  roof 

Up  and  away  on  the  ru.^hing  wind, 


Terior  befoie  and  blackness  behind. 
Heavy  Miio',e  cloud>  roll  across  the  skv. 
Hissing  lir.-.nds  in  iJiick  battalions  lly, 
Sh*\elle  1  rafters  seething  wriirn.   .uid  crawl, 
HIasteti  walls  in  wild  conliislon  lall. 
Oraggi'.g  down  to  a  horrible  death. 
Stilling  their  outcries  with  blistering  breath. 
I'he  tearless  and  brave  wi.       'rove  with  might, 
To  be  crushcti  at  last  in  unequal  fight. 
Ah,  many  a  wife,  in  slumbers  secure. 
Shall  weep  for  the  mate  who  comes  no  more, 
.\nd  many  a  mother  miss  from  her  side 
The  joy  of  her  heart,  its  love  and  pride, 
.\nd  many  a  home  in  confuieiu  rest 
This  night  shall  rob  of  its  dearest  and  best. 

Hard  was  the  struggle  that  Sabballi  day 
To  keep  the  fiery  pest  at  bav. 
While  sickening  fear  and  \vild  unrest 
I'ierced  and  tortured  the  anxious  breast; 
But  stalwart  heroes  lashed  and  beat 
The  snarling  fiend  in  his  last  retreat, 
Till  crushing  blows  and  smothering  rain 
Drove  the  slave  to  his  chains  again. 


("l.nilts  lo  the  cli.mibur  t>\  innocent  rest. 
W.ikeiis  ll)e  mother  .tncl  liabe  on  her  breast. 


^■ML 


id. 

JL'   ^kv, 
ll.v." 

.ind  crawl, 
II. 
Ii. 

ni;  breatli. 

with  mifjlif, 

ulu. 

110. 

•^  no  more, 
r  side 
pi'ide, 
t 
and  best. 

til  day 

est 

ireast ; 
at 
at, 

1^  rain 
n. 


t, 
re.ist. 


i 


\\  n  K  (.'  K  E  I) . 


ASHES    OF    ROSES. 


261 


Up.  up  once  more  wlicn  the  nijjlit  coines  down,  I  While  w.itchfiil  guards  tlie  terror  ho'd  spcu 


With  tlunulerin;;  roars  and  a  tlainint;  irown, 
He  breaks  from  his  prison  and  sallies  out, 
Torture  and  terror  to  scatter  about. 
Recklessly  dashes  frail  barriers  through, 
And  on,  dashes  on  to  destruction  anew, 


For  there  is  his  fate,  and  he  turns  aside 
As  the  door  from  its  stubborn  hold  is  pried. 

Sports  with  rich  treasures  of  silver  and  gold, 
Draefs  from  their  slumbers  the  young  and  the 

old. 
Climbs  to  the  chamber  of  innocent  rest. 
Wakens  the  mother  and  babe  on  her  breast, 
Then  fiercer  and  faster  dashes  along, 
His  revel  of  ruin  to  further  prolong. 
But  all  in  vain ;  the  steady  strokes  down  fall, 
And  well-poised  weapons  nail  him  to  the  wall, 


Once  more  he's  conquered,  and  the  battle's  o'.  r. 

Ashes  of  Roses  I     Beauty  lies  crushed; 
Into  our  garden  the  whirlwind  has  rushed. 
Blasting  the  garners  of  riches  and  pride. 
Breaking  the  strength  that  misfortune  defied. 
Rending  warm  life  from  the  h()|)eful  and  brave. 
Shrouding  our  joys   with   the  gloom  of  the 

grave. 
Over  the  reeking  and  desolate  scene 
The  moon  in  full  glory  up  rises  serene. 
Through  drifting  smoke  clouds  stray  beams 

fitful  fall 
On  broken  arch,  on  black  and  splintered  wall. 
Strange  watch  files  flick  and  glow  along  the 

street; 
The  trusty  guard  patrols  his  measured  beat. 
And  tap  of  drum,  quick  tramp,  and  stern  com- 
mand 
Proclaim  the  presence  of  a  martial  band, 
Wiiile  far  and  wide  a  people  sick  in  sorrow, 
Anxiously  wait  the  coming  of  to-morrow. 

To-morrow!  ah,  yes,  it  will  bring  relief. 
Though  its  coming  perchance  be  fraught  with 

grief; 
For  under  tlie  embers  lie  riches  in  store 
The  anxious  merchant  hastes  to  secure, 
While  doubt  and  fear  assail  his  breast. 
As  the  safe  is  torn  from  its  fiery  rest; 
For  there  is  his  fate,  and  he  turns  aside 
As  the  door  from  its  stubborn  hold  is  pried; 
For  there  are  treasures  to  rear  more  fair, 
Or  dust  and  ashes  to  bring  despair. 
To-morrow  may  bring  to  the  trouble-tost 
Glad  tidings  of  joy  from  the  loved  and  lost; 
To-morrow  may  bring  hope's  cheery  beam, 
I  And  out  of  the  darkness  warm  light  stream; 
I  For  all  is  not  lost  while  honor  survives, 
I  And  success  oft  journeys  with  him  who  strives, 
j  To-morrow  beauty  from  ashes  shall  spring, 
'  And  labor's  hainmer  right  merrily  ring, 
'  And  tlie  fiery  whirlwind,  fierce  and  vast, 
I  Hurried  away  in  the  mouldering  past. 


T 


T  11  IN  IT  Y     CIIUIU'H     AFTEll     THE     F  1  I;  I.. 

Skclclios  amid  tlio  ruins  of  tlio  lio.stou  Fire,  bv  Miss  L.  ]}.  IIumimiiiky. 


f^ 


